


The Gladiator

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Series: The Fate in the Flames [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Ancient Rome, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Canon Divergence - Pre-Thor (2011), Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gladiators, Gratuitous liberties taken with historical accuracy, Historical Canon Divergence, Historical Fantasy, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki's Adventures on Midgard, Master/Slave, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Loki, Power Dynamics, Pre-Thor AU, Prisoner Loki, Prisoner of War, Role Reversal, Roman Empire, Slow Burn, Trickster Loki (Marvel), Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 00:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 112,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Stranded alone and nearly-powerless on Midgard, The God of Mischief finds that his fate is in the hands of the small, unassuming mortal girl who now owns him.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a thing for historically-inaccurate versions of ancient Rome and Loki wreaking havoc on mortals, you're in the right place.

Aelia clenched her teeth as the guards escorted her retinue through the boisterous crowd. For the thousandth time, she cursed the ostentatious games and tournaments that her uncle held weekly, distracting the citizens with blood and gore from the many, many flaws in his leadership. 

Aelia was not fond of her uncle, but she had grown up an orphan in his home and had been instilled with a firm understanding of The Rules. She was her uncle Otho’s charity case, meant to show everyone how kind and generous the man could be. Her duties since childhood were to be paraded around and pitied, with a gentle smile and eyes downcast. She was a model Roman daughter, and she had learned from an early age that the consequences that came from acting out of character were severe.

She had very little memory of her parents, now. Her uncle spoke disparagingly of her father, who had fallen in love with a barbarian woman in some far-off military campaign in the north, never to return to Rome again. Aelia was told that the barbarians had turned on their guest and murdered him alongside his young wife, the ultimate betrayal of the hospitality the Romans valued so highly. 

“And so the traitor himself was met with betrayal, Aelia. Was this not a fitting end?” Otho had asked her one night, one of the first conversations they had after she was brought to his sprawling domicile. 

“Yes, Uncle,” she had whispered, voice small and weak. 

“You would do well to remember such lessons. Loyalty to this house comes before all else. Do you understand, child?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“See that you do,” he had said, dismissing her and her maid with a wave as he turned back to his desk.

To the public, Otho was much more sympathetic to the fate of his late brother, who had been decidedly better-loved by most of the people.

“Poor Sabinus,” he would sigh dramatically to anyone who would listen. “Seduced and murdered by a barbarian witch, far from the comforts of Rome. At least we can take comfort that his child,” and here he would gesture to Aelia, “she will grow up as a member of civilized society.”

The surrounding patricians would all nod and praise Otho for his charity and for ensuring that the half-barbarian child was raised as a proper imperial lady. Their wives would tut and coo over Aelia, commenting on her golden hair and sapphire-blue eyes.

“Such strange coloring the child has!” someone would invariably exclaim, and her uncle would laugh and point out how similar her features were to her father’s, though she had a northerner's complexion. Aelia had soon learned to retreat to a place of daydreams to hide herself from their scrutiny whenever possible. 

Once, when she was around ten years of age, a wealthy visiting merchant had affixed her with a particularly calculating stare. “Have you ever considered selling the girl’s hair, Otho?” he had asked. “Such a color is becoming quite popular as an ornament for many ladies in the capital, and supply is scarce.”

Her uncle had bristled, and it was one of the few times she had ever seen him defend her, or rather  _ his house’s _ honor. “My  _ niece _ , Aelia Sabina, is the daugher of a patrician and my ward. You will remember to afford her the respect that her position demands.”

“Of course,” the merchant had soothed, bowing and professing that he’d meant no insult. Aelia had been sent to her chamber soon after. That night was the first time she’d dreamed of her parents and the fire that had consumed them, as she was dragged from the flames by her hair. 

After that, her uncle had taken care to ensure that her ‘barbarian’ features were even more on show. Her hair was piled up in perfect renditions of the latest Roman styles, and her maids were instructed to keep her out of the sun so her skin remained pale.

_ Look _ , she knew he was saying.  _ Otho can turn even a half-barbarian child into a perfect Roman citizen.  _  Once, when she complained of the attention, her tutor had given her a mildly pitying look and explained that her uncle meant to rule the north as a king.

“His position grows, and he urges the emperor to finally crush the remaining tribes at our northern borders. It is believed that he has convinced the emperor to create a city-state in the north when this is accomplished, and the master would be given it in recognition for his military and financial service to the empire. He would answer to no one but the emperor of Rome himself.”

Aelia had felt dread at that. She couldn’t think of many men worse-suited to be the second-most powerful man in Rome. While he was charming and generous in public, he was demanding and cruel within his own home.

Still, years had passed and Otho still had not reached his ultimate goal, though he grew much closer year after year. The territory under his command was thriving, as more and more soldiers were sent to the north to suppress the barbarians and secure their lands and resources. It was said that he was the emperor’s most trusted advisor, and well-liked by many freemen due to the lavish events he had begun to regularly sponsor.

She was currently headed to such an event, and Aelia hoped that it would be the last one she would be forced to attend for the next few weeks, as her uncle would be traveling south and so would hopefully be unable to police her every move.

The group had almost reached the stairs to the arena without incident when she was suddenly hailed by an older patrician dismounting from his litter.

“ _Ave_ , Sabina,” he called out excitedly, and she forced a smile to her face. This was one of The Rules; rich, powerful allies of her uncle should always be addressed with the utmost civility and respect. It was of no consequence how much incivility they expressed in return.

She gave a  small bow. “Senator Marcus, how delighted I am to see you here today. I am sure my uncle will appreciate your presence.” 

On the inside, she was filled with dread. Marcus was one of her uncle’s prime candidates for her eventual marriage, and while he had usually played the gentleman to her, she had been horrified by the way he treated his slaves and soldiers, and generally anyone who he considered in his way. She knew she would have no choice than to sit next to him for the rest of the day and endure his constant inane chatter, and his overly-enthused cheering when blood hit the sand. Her stomach was in knots. 

He reached for her hand and kissed it as she kept a bland smile plastered on her face. “You look lovely today, my dear. Please inform your uncle that I will attend him shortly. I must first check in on my investments.”

She nodded politely and bid him farewell, holding down a shudder. She knew his  _ investments  _ were fighting men, many of whom would likely be dead after tonight. Perhaps if she played up the sensitive maiden card, he would be inclined to be more forgiving to the survivors at the end of the fight. After playing characters all her life, Aelia was quite good at it.

The party ascended the dusty stairs and soon she was before her uncle, who gave a great show of greeting her warmly and kissed her on the cheek. “Wave to the crowds, niece,” he muttered into her ear, a large, benevolent smile on his face. Aelia complied, then took her seat at her uncle’s right hand. Keeping her face serene, she informed her uncle of the senator’s impending arrival. 

“Ah,” he chortled, “It is no surprise. I have heard that he paid quite a bit for his new fighters, though they were shipped straight from the battlefront. I have no doubt that he has made a few costly bets to try to recoup the expense.”

“I see.”

Otho laughed. “Do not look so stern, Aelia. It will be a marvelous show, and the people are frothing at the mouth for blood already. Our house’s influence increases by the day.”

Inclining her head, she murmured her assent. Then, feeling a spark of some long-buried mischief, she smiled at her uncle. “Perhaps the emperor himself will visit one of your games someday soon.”

Knowing immediately that she was poking at a sore spot, she dropped her gaze and turned to look back at the crowd. Her uncle stared for a moment, trying to decide if her words were genuine or mocking. 

“I have no doubt that we will be honored with his presence soon enough,” he finally said, as he too turned to look out at the arriving throngs of eager Romans. They did not speak again until Senator Marcus arrived in their seating box.

As expected, her uncle greeted the man warmly and urged him to sit on Aelia’s other side. Her maid Lavinia, from where she stood at attention behind her, gave Aelia’s arm a reassuring squeeze.  Aelia gave an almost imperceptible nod to reassure the maid that she was well and squared her shoulders in preparation for the day ahead.

Suddenly, her uncle stood to the cheers of the crowd. “Friends, countrymen,” he roared. “Let today’s festivities begin!”

 


	2. II

Aelia cheered and applauded along with the rest of the patricians in her uncle’s seating box, as was expected of her. She tried to tune herself out of the commotion, but was caught by surprise when she heard her uncle say her name.

“....and my dear niece, Aelia Sabina, is honored to be escorted today by Senator Marcus Juvenus!”

A crimson blush spreading across her cheeks, she forced herself to smile brightly and wave to the cheering crowd. Next to her, Marcus looked incredibly pleased.

_ Bastards _ , she thought. Maybe they were closer to the betrothal arrangement than she had been led to believe. 

After what seemed like an eternity of flowery speeches and uselessly long epithets from her uncle and the other wealthy nobles in attendance, a signal was given for the gladiators to be brought into the arena.

They were made to stand before Otho’s balcony seat, and a servant took over the task of announcing the competitors. Some of the men were established fighters with legions of cheering fans, while many were bound in chains and clearly ready to fight their way to freedom. The herald moved through the men quickly, and Aelia did her best to drown out their names, if they were even spoken, and where they had come from. It was easier to not care if she didn’t know.

The final man in the day’s lineup was at last pulled by soldiers to stand in front of their balcony, and a hush fell over the crowd as they waited for the herald to begin. This drew Aelia”s attention, and she realized immediately why the plebeians and patricians alike both seemed so profoundly curious.

Held at the end of chains by the two soldiers at his side, the man still seemed intimidating. He towered over almost all of the other men standing in the arena, with bound wrists and hobbled ankles. He wore what looked to be some type of strange armor on the lower half of his face, and after a moment’s consideration Aelia realized that it was not armor, but a muzzle. 

Her eyes trailed down the strange garments and armor he wore, and then back up to his face. She realized with horror that somehow, out of all of the thousands of faces  in the crowd, his eyes had found hers. 

He stared at her with piercing green eyes, and while an embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks, she held his gaze. Aelia thought she saw his eyebrow quirk as if he was amused, but at the distance she couldn’t be sure and assured herself that she was imagining things. 

“From the far reaches of the wild and untamed North!” the herald boomed. “A god among barbarians, a ruthless killer with a heart full of deceit! He murdered over a dozen Roman soldiers while bound in chains!” Here the crowd began to hiss and boo, excited by the prospect of such a perfect villain. 

Otho raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “Let us see how the barbarian fares against Roman justice, surrounded by the spirit of Rome itself.” He gestured to the crowd and they returned to their earlier cheering.

_ Ah _ , thought Aelia.  _ So he’s to be executed, then. _ She turned her gaze finally from the man who was condemned to die no matter how well or how poorly he fought, and kept her eyes fixed on a point in the distance as he was led away.

“Was he not simply fascinating?” cooed one of the women sitting on her uncle’s other side. “Such a dangerous creature, and so mysterious.”

“Hardly mysterious, Octavia, darling,” giggled the woman lounging beside her. “All men are so predictable, even barbarians.”

“Hmm, perhaps. But I would still like to see his face.”

“I’m sure we all would, dear. Is that not so, Aelia?”

Aelia jolted back to the present and turned to look at the woman. Her name was Drucilla, and while she was close enough to Aelia in age that they were expected to be companions, the girl always seemed to be hiding spitefulness under a thin veneer of civility. 

“Pardon, Drucilla,” she replied, “but I am afraid I missed your meaning.”

“Simply that we would all likely enjoy seeing more of the  _ barbarian _ , don’t you agree,  _ Sabina _ ?”

Aelia bristled. She hated when they used her name like that. In theory, it was a sign of respect due to her father’s great military success and the elevated rank he once held, but in practice it was usually used to remind her that she had been born of his treason.

“I am sure he is quite formidable,” she replied blandly, and turned her attention to the senator on her right. If she was to be forced to interact with anyone on this blasted day, at least let it be with someone predictable, rather than the harpies. 

Surprisingly, she managed to keep herself minimally involved in conversation throughout the day. Her uncle was clearly more focused with putting on his spectacle, and the senator was anxiously fixed on the results of the fights. She supposed that she would be far more concerned about the outcomes if she had a small fortune riding on them, too. 

The afternoon grew late. Sick of watching men kill and be killed, she kept her gaze fixed on a spot across the arena, just over some spectator’s faces. She only returned her focus to the games when her uncle was called upon to judge if the surviving gladiators were to die or be spared. He had a tendency to spare the real fighting men and condemn the prisoners, many of whom were already in poor shape and offered little sport for the crowd and little value to potential owners. 

On this day, Otho spared almost all of the surviving defeated, and while she was relieved, Aelia was also perplexed. There was always a purpose to her uncle’s actions. Fortunately, she was spared from her musings when the senator leaned over her to ask her uncle the same question.

“Feeling merciful today, my friend?”

Otho laughed. “Hardly, Marcus. I am simply being economical. I attend to announce an even greater round of games very soon, and I see no need to waste the bodies.”

_ How callous _ , Aelia thought,  _ but not unexpected. _

The senator seemed to think this was a very wise move, praising Otho’s economics. “That is how the wealthy remain so, my friend. Very wise, indeed. May I ask what the occasion for such great spectacles, at such great expense, could be?”

“We are yet to receive word of when the emperor himself will honor us with a visit, but his eldest son journeys here within the fortnight. He has been sent to lead an elite legion from the capitol guard, to gain military experience. After visiting with us for a while, of course.”

“Ah, quite the first assignment for the emperor’s heir.”

“It is indeed, Marcus, but I assure you he will be accompanied by some of my most skilled men in addition to the emperor’s. I am sure he will be quite safe in our care.”

He glanced at his niece at that for just a moment, and Aelia’s already-frayed nerves immediately alerted her to her uncle’s use of  _ our _ . There was some task for her involved in the man’s visit, and she dreaded what it might be. Playing hostess to a war-hungry, power-crazed heir of the empire would be a terrible task in and of itself.

Her uncle suddenly rose and, after signalling the heralds to quiet the crowd, announced that the highlight of the day was about to begin.

Aelia’s heart rate quickened as the green-eyed man was led into the arena once again, and she frowned as she noticed that he had gained a large scrape along his hairline since his initial appearance. He glanced around with an almost-lazy air, then turned his gaze once more to her. 

She wondered why she was able to distinguish his features so clearly, when those around him were difficult to make out. He seemed to be flexing and shifting his weight from side to side, and she wondered if he was impatient to begin the battle. The herald had said that the man had killed dozens while bound, so he must be quite a seasoned fighter. That was likely the reason for the mark on his face, she realized - the guards had been trying to weaken him before his turn in the arena came.

His opponents entered next, and the crowed roared - four of the gladiators were local favorites, and the other two were unknown but burly convicts. The guards removed the chains from his feet and sides, but left his hands manacled and his face covered. They were halfway across the arena before one of the guards dropped a dagger and a small shield in the sand, almost as an afterthought. 

Drucilla and Octavia both squealed in excitement, and the senator leaned forward in his seat. Aelia reasoned that he must have high stakes riding on this, the final and most anticipated fight of the evening.

And, to the screaming of the crowd and with much ado, her uncle raised his hand to signal that the game should begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than sticking to traditional Roman naming conventions, in which daughters were typically named directly after their fathers or referred to by the family name, I wanted to give Aelia a first name that was truly her own. Fun fact: Otho was the name of an actual Roman emperor... who only reigned three months!


	3. III

Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, had been having a terrible month. His latest jaunt to Midgard was a total disaster, and unfortunately, this time the joke was finally on him. He had been having a fine time gallivanting around the kingdoms of the Northmen with his idiot brother Thor, when said idiot brother was suddenly summoned by the Allfather to attend to some urgent business on Vanaheim.

He hadn’t minded. After all, Loki has always been more of a lone wolf. While he’d had many fine adventures with his brother (that he’d never admit), Loki relished the chance to delight in his mischief with no one to babysit him. Or for him to babysit, really, since Thor managed to stir up trouble almost as often as himself. He had spent nearly a week playing some  _ relatively _ harmless tricks on an isolated forest kingdom, delighting in their fear and the incredible rush of power it gave him.

Of course, the mortals were too afraid to offend him, seeming to think that he was some sort of demon. Loki preferred to be thought of as a god, but demon did the trick just as well. He sat in their king’s throne and was treated as an honored guest, and his hosts did nothing when he turned the sheep green and conjured snakes in the feasting hall. Harmless magic, really, but the mortals didn’t know that.

In fact, he had grown bored of the king’s timid complacency and had decided to move on in search of more sport when the Midgardians made their move. He had been dozing on his borrowed throne when they slipped up behind him and cast a net over him. 

Loki had roared awake at once, but it was too late; the net clung to his magic and drained it away faster than he could fight back. He jumped to his feet, reaching for his dagger, when a sharp pain burst across his temple and everything went black.

* * *

 

He awoke not long after, chained to a tree outside the main feasting hall, still wrapped in the net and sporting a pair of plain gold cuffs. Reaching up at the feel of something heavy around his neck, he slid his fingers against the collar he found there. There was magic there, and it did not taste of Midgard. Someone had decided to play mischief on the Trickster God himself, it would seem. 

Immediately, he tried to force what little remained power he had into the collar to blast it off, but the result was less than satisfactory and his head began to pound. It had to be Amora, he was sure of it. The witch had been out for his blood ever since he had refused her a dance at his mother’s last birthday feast. Though far less magically gifted than him, she was quite proficient, and she was the only sorcerer he knew who was both currently angry with him and petty enough to use mortals to get revenge.

He realized with some surprise that there was blood on his temple, and was both enraged and slightly impressed that the mortals had made him bleed. It was yet another downside of having almost all of his magic bound in what was now essentially a mortal’s form. Loki did not like feeling nearly-mortal, and he promised himself that when he returned to Asgard, Amora would learn well that no one should attempt to outplay Loki Liesmith. 

The king and his court had come outside soon after, and with a shaking and oddly reverential voice had explained to Loki that he was to be taken to a holy place in the south, around two week’s travel by foot. Loki had lost his temper finally at that, snarling and swearing that they would regret the day they dared to subdue a god.

Looking terrified, the king gestured to the old woman beside him, who approached  him slowly with something gleaming in her wrinkled hands. Loki didn’t like the look of that, especially if his wrists and neck were anything to go by. Two burly guards came forward to hold him still, and the woman began to chant in a strange, garbled tongue that even he did not recognize.

His headache grew sharper.

“Forgive me, Liesmith,” she muttered, then affixed a metal muzzle over his mouth. It burned and he hissed, but when he tried to speak, there was no sound.

For the first time during the whole ordeal, Loki felt apprehension rather than annoyance. Even without most of his magic, he was still a powerful manipulator. Silvertongue, they called him. He had felt confident that he would be able to wheedle his way out of the bonds and wreak havoc, but not that option was gone.

With a huff, he decided to conserve his energy until Thor returned or Heimdall decided to open the Bifrost and call him back to Asgard. One or the other was sure to happen soon.

 

* * *

 

Neither happened soon, and a week later, Loki was tired, bedraggled, and had been marched along an obscene amount of muddy Midgardian roadways. He was baffled that he hadn’t been enveloped in the light of the Bifrost yet, with his mother and father waiting to chastise him. Perhaps Odin had decided to teach him a lesson about playing his tricks on other realms, or maybe Heimdall simply had yet to inform the Allfather and Allmother that their younger son was currently near-powerless and being towed across Midgard like an animal. Heimdall wasn’t exactly fond of him, after all.

And it was also true that his power was slowly returning. Whatever enchantments had been used to bind him were beginning to fade ever so slightly, although he would go mad if he had to simply wait for them to finally break. His healing was returning first, and he supposed it was how he had managed to go without food or drink for so long. He felt fairly certain that a mortal would have died under such conditions. It made sense, for regenerative magic was more inherent to his being, and much more challenging for any outside force to suppress. 

However, Loki was not interested in healing. He was interested in eliminating the entire convoy of men escorting him in one clean, bright green blast. They did their very best to avoid even looking at him, as if afraid that he could hypnotize them with a glance. 

It was incredibly tedious, but a smart move on their part, in his opinion. He was growing more and more frustrated and aggressive by the day, and he itched for a fight. Loki had never taken to physical combat the way Thor had, but he was still one of the most powerful fighters in Asgard. If no one came to aid him soon, he was going to have to find a way to kill them all on his own. While he didn’t exactly  _ mind _ killing a few score Midgardians, he knew his mother would give him endless lectures if he did; Queen Frigga had always had a soft spot for mortals.

Things had taken quite a sudden turn when the caravan was set upon by an entire Roman legion, which after a short but brutal skirmish had either killed or incapacitated the entire troupe of Northmen. 

Then monotony had set in. While the Northmen had still viewed Loki with a measure of respect, as they had seen his magic and feared it, the Romans treated him as a defiant prisoner that needed to be broken. He had hoped that, in their ignorance, they would remove his restraints, but the other prisoners had warned their captors against it. No doubt they feared his retribution more than whatever awaited them in Rome, and that gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction.

It did nothing to alleviate his frustration, however. The soldiers beat him, and often. It was making it harder for him to restore his power, since his body automatically funneled all of its limited resources to healing itself. Loki was no fool, and he had plenty of time to mull over possible solutions. It wasn’t as if he had anyone else to chat with. 

He found himself almost missing Thor.

By the end of the second week, Loki had discovered that if he concentrated, he could keep his magic from rushing to his injuries. He thought it quite ironic that he was now further constricting his already weakened power, but it was the only way he could think of to store up enough energy to work any truly damaging seiðr. With something of a plan in mind, Loki felt much more confident once again, although his appearance grew more and more disheveled and bruised as the days went on.

A little over three weeks after his powers had been stripped from him, he found himself led through the gates of a walled Roman city. He was surprised to see such development from the Midgardians, but then it was still downright primitive in comparison to his realm. It was the most that could be expected from mortals, really.

After being herded through narrow, dirty streets for what seemed like an eternity, Loki found himself chained in a cell along with the rest of the prisoners. The soldiers were mocking, and spoke of a battle in a few days’ time. He paid them very little attention, but the other prisoners’ reactions ranged from defiant to frightened. 

Loki wasn’t concerned. He was a  _ god _ , and they were mortal. That was that, although the Romans might not believe it. Really, had they not noticed that he had survived weeks without nourishment? Such blatantly stupid creatures clearly deserved their fate.

And so Loki sat and concentrated on the little flicker of magic that was returning to life deep in his chest, listening to the mortals around him scream and wail. This was an annoyance, a minor setback, and nothing more. He was Loki of Asgard, and he would always win in the end.


	4. IV

As her uncle’s hand dropped to signal the beginning of the fight, the green-eyed barbarian darted with almost-inhuman speed toward the weapon and shield left in the middle of the arena. It seemed as if they were determined to put the man at a disadvantage, and Aelia realized that he was being forced to choose between defensive and offensive, as he could not possibly wield both a dagger and a shield with his hands in manacles. 

The gladiators were hard on his heels, and Aelia wrung her hands in her stola as he suddenly dove for the dagger, hitting the ground with a roll. When he landed on his feet, she was shocked to see that the shield was in his hands… but surely he would have grabbed for the dagger?

She realized the same moment the crowd did that the dagger was now buried in the throat of the nearest gladiator, and the spectators roared with disbelief as one of their favorites slumped to the ground. The barbarian gladiator moved quickly, slamming the shield into the face of another opponent, who cursed and retreated, clutched his bleeding nose. A retiarius slashed at him with a spear, and it caught him in the side.

Seeing their chance, the three remaining charged in, but the green-eyed gladiator had retrieved his dagger and somehow managed to get it between the ribs of another. Aelia did not understand how he was moving so quickly, and she was certain that the gash in his side was serious; she noticed that he was keeping his elbow pressed to his ribs to cover it as much as possible. 

The remaining four men who stood against the barbarian seemed to come to an agreement that they should try to weaken him slowly, rather than rushing into close range. Having lost both his dagger and his shield now, the man darted to the first body and snatched the man’s short sword. 

Aelia usually tried to avoid watching these spectacles, but she could not tear her eyes away. She had never understood why so many of her peers shared such a strong love of gladiators, but the way he moved, so quick and lethal, was almost beautiful.

The crowd must have agreed with her, because she began to hear cheers ring out for the barbarian. It did not take long for him to dispatch two of the remaining four opponents, both of them burly prisoners who were strong but far too slow to avoid his blade. 

Aelia could tell that he was beginning to grow weary, having now sustained several hard hits and deep cuts. The man with the broken nose finally managed to bring him down with a slash to his upper thigh, and the remaining gladiator assisted with a spearpoint through his shoulder. 

The crowd fell hush for a stunned moment, then roared with applause, not all of which was aimed at the Roman champions. Martial prowess was highly valued here, even if you were a prisoner of war, and it was evident that the crowd wanted to see more.

She knew it would never happen; the gladiator’s fate had been decided before he entered the arena, and her uncle would use his execution as a show of Roman strength, and a symbol of his own strength over the barbarians in the North. 

Hoisted between the two other gladiators, the defeated was dragged back in front of their dais for the official judgement, and soldiers swarmed out to surround them. The prisoner appeared almost....  _ frustrated _ . He was glaring toward the heavens, and Aelia swore that if she could hear him, he would be cursing. 

Determinedly, she fixed her gaze on a spot in the sand. She would not watch them kill this man that she felt strangely fascinated by; she could not. There was a sort of impotent rage starting to simmer in her chest, knowing that she could do nothing.

And so she glared at the sand and waited.

 

* * *

 

Loki of Asgard was in a state. Fuming, he cursed the Northmen who had bound him, the witch Amora, his idiot brother for leaving him on this accursed realm alone, Heimdall, who should have opened the Bifrost by now, his father, who was supposed to know what was happening on all of the Nine Realms at all times, these Roman fools who thought to make sport of him, and now, more than all, the mortal girl who refused to look at him.

He would have quite the list of people to wreak havoc upon once he was free. 

At this point, severely weakened and still mostly without the use of his seiðr, Loki had accepted that he would have to rely on his other talents to handle this mess. The bold little mortal who had stared at him so freely earlier that day seemed to be a good target; she was clearly a person of some importance in this Midgardian backwater, and he could practically  _ feel _ her sympathy and curiosity, both emotions he could use to his advantage. Manipulating mortals to let him have his way was usually easy, but his powers of communication were rather limited at the moment. And so he stared on, growing increasingly impatient. 

_ Look at me, _ he seethed, but the pale little Midgardian was stubbornly staring at something beyond him. The Midgardian men around her had stood and begun to blather, but Loki tuned them out. He had very little time left before things got rather dire.

With no small effort, Loki shoved as much power as he could muster behind the thought, nay, command, and waited with bated breath for the chips to fall in place.

_ Look at me.  _

 

* * *

 

Aelia gasped as a voice roared in her mind, twisting her head to look once more at the green-eyed man her uncle was currently condemning. Their eyes met, and her senses were flooded with a boldness she had never before experienced.

Feeling as if she was watching herself from far away, Aelia rose to her feet. “Wait, uncle,” she heard someone say, and she realized with horror that it was herself.

Otho paused, turning to look at her with disbelief, and soon Aelia felt the collective stare of the entire arena honed on her. “Yes, dear niece?” her uncle finally replied, straining to keep his tone level and pleasant. She had no doubt he would have slapped her for her insolence had they been away from prying eyes, and she had no doubt that it awaited her once they were home.

Terrified, she glanced back at the prisoner, and was flooded with a reassuring warmth. Her breathing steadied, and she  _ knew _ , somehow, exactly what to say to appease her uncle and the crowd.

“Is a quick death truly a fitting lesson for a savage, uncle? Would it not be better to domesticate such a creature, to put him to the service of Rome? After all,” she tittered, doing her very best impression of Drucilla, “the northmen did claim he was one of their  _ gods _ .”

The senator Marcus, ever eager to gain her favor, chimed in. “Well spoken, Sabina, and like a true general! Death is not always the strongest, most effective method of dealing with such prisoners. The spirit is much more difficult to break, and it sends a far better message to those who still oppose the empire.”

There were cheers in the crowd, to her surprise and relief. Otho regarded her with a calculating eye, and Aelia knew he was trying to discern how to play this newest development to his advantage.  _ Please _ , she prayed to any god who might be listening,  _ please let me help him.  _

“Perhaps my niece seeks to finally avenge the heinous murder of her father,” Otho mused. “Surely a daughter of our empire deserves this vengeance?” The crowd roared. The prisoner with emerald eyes was sagging, blood pooling in the sand, but he looked relieved. Aelia was anything but relieved, with the golden sense of self-assurance quickly fading.

“What will be your punishment for this defeated gladiator, my dear?” her uncle demanded.

“His life,” Aelia replied quickly, before she lost her nerve. “That it be mine from now until the day he dies. I would that the barbarian serve me as a slave.” The man was clearly unconscious, now, and she felt cold and empty, her words choking in her throat. 

“What say you, citizens? Should my dear niece Sabina be granted this barbarian’s life as recompense for her great loss?” 

A roaring cheer was their response. She supposed the ultimate humiliation of such a fate amused them- a warrior, a supposed  _ god _ , bound in servitude to a mere girl. It relieved her, for she felt certain that she had no more courage left to speak.

“So it shall be!” Otho declared, and waved for the gladiators to all be removed. Aelia made a great show of embracing him and offering her gratitude, then fell into her seat, terrified of what was to come.


	5. V

The journey home was not a pleasant one. Her retinue was mostly subdued, clearly shocked by her unexpected boldness at the games, and likely nervous for the state their master would be in after tonight’s banquet. She pitied them, knowing that her uncle would take his displeasure out on everyone, whether they be freemen or slaves.

For as always, there was to be a banquet at Otho’s palatial estate. Wealthy and powerful men would come and talk business and be entertained, while their wives and daughters gossiped. Aelia had never enjoyed these banquets, but tonight’s was an especially fearsome prospect. While her uncle had, mercifully, played along with her little outburst in the arena in order to save face, she knew that he would find a way to punish her for it in one way or another.

Her uncle said not one word to her when they arrived at the estate, merely ordering her maids to have her ready for the dinner. She woodenly allowed herself to be lead through the motions; bathing, then a new pale lavender stola. They left her hair down, which was terribly unfashionable; Aelia was certain that there was a statement being made with that, but she did not care to know what it was. Perhaps she was simply being reminded of her place as a household ornament.

 

* * *

 

The drip-drip-dripping echoing through the cell was a constant reminder of the state Loki now found himself reduced to, but he was (almost) too exhausted to care. However had this happened, and to  _ him _ ? Of all the gods in Asgard, Thor seemed by far the most likely to end up in such a tremendous mess. Loki had decided that the Norns themselves must be playing a cruel trick on him.

Though he hated to admit it to himself, the mortals had managed to get Loki in a very bad state. He’d used a good chunk of his newly-returning power to push the little mortal towards making a stand for him, and he had barely been able to see her through her lines before he blacked out. The dam that he had created to hold his powers back burst when he lost consciousness, and most of his worst injuries had healed. He supposed he should be thankful for this, but Loki felt a profound sense of disappointment at the loss of the magic so recently restored to him.

And more importantly, it would make things trickier now that he had no stores of magic on which he could rely. He sat up on his wooden cot and flexed, testing the healed muscles and bone. It was a very good thing indeed that Loki was a master of tricky situations. The mortals would never stand a chance, of course. He was  _ very _ certain of that. 

As much as he detested rolling about in the filth of Midgard, he saw the upside of being so encrusted in blood and dirt; it wouldn’t do for the mortals to notice that many of his more-severe gashes had healed over so quickly, especially now that he had no powers to defend himself if they became hysterical like the Northmen had.

Perhaps they would end up leaving him locked up in this cell to rot away. Loki didn’t mind this possibility, really. He would eventually regain his seiðr and force his way out, although he did dread the long, tedious wait. On the other hand, if he had the opportunity to work his influence over the Midgardians, he was sure that he could find himself free much more quickly. Especially if the pliant little mortal at the arena was any indication, for her mind had been almost shockingly easy to slip into. 

He pondered what to do with the girl, knowing that she was likely his best route of escape. He had seen it on her face from the beginning- compassion and a tiny bit of hidden bravery (both fatal flaws in Loki’s opinion, although they would work to his benefit now). Knowing nothing about him, she had  _ wanted _ deeply for him to live, and so it had been easy to push her to do something about it. All he had to do now was keep pushing.

It would certainly help if they would take the damned muzzle off of his face.

The girl was young and fair, as well, and he smirked under the mask. This was, no doubt, another point in Loki’s favor. He felt certain that if her bleeding heart wasn’t enough to sway her into helping him, he could simply seduce her. He  _ was  _ called Silvertongue, after all. 

Breaking his reverie, several soldiers opened the door and barked for him to rise and come with them for an audience with the masters, throwing in a few kicks for good measure. 

Loki’s eyes blazed. Let the mortals have their fun, for now. They would learn to fear him soon enough. 

 

* * *

 

She had been sitting through the most unbearable banquet of her life for almost three hours when her uncle clapped his hands for silence. Aelia felt the familiar choking sensation of anxiety as he called her to sit on the cushion next to him. She could guess what this was to be about, and she had been dreading it for the entire day. 

Otho’s guards led in the fallen gladiator, who was sporting a hostile expression but otherwise seemed surprisingly docile.  _ Her _ hostile, fallen gladiator now, she reminded herself. Why had she spoken for him in the first place?

The banquet guests waited with bated breath, knowing that more entertainment was to come. Otho stood and began to walk around the man, making a great show of inspecting him, as if he were livestock. The barbarian stared down at him with disdain, clearly undaunted by his situation. Aelia realized then just how imposing he was, towering over her uncle and most of the other men in the room by at least a head.

Her uncle completed his faux-inspection and returned to lounge on his seat. “Such strange-looking creatures, these barbarian  _ gods _ are,” he loudly mocked. “And how curious that their gods  _ bleed _ .” 

The crowd laughed, but the gladiator seemed unfazed, his eyes now scanning the room, taking stock. As a matter of fact, Aelia was shocked by how alert he seemed; she had expected him to be delirious from blood loss and physical trauma. 

“Kneel before your new mistress, slave,” Otho cried out, and Aelia quailed as the man’s eyes snapped to her with a look of pure hatred. She was sure he was snarling, though his mouth remained obscured. Otho waved, and one of the guards slammed the flat of his sword into the side of the gladiator’s knee, knocking him to the ground. He did not try to regain his footing, but turned his spite-filled eyes towards her uncle, raven-dark hair falling down to frame his face. Had she not known better, Aelia would have believed that his green eyes were glowing. 

“My, the barbarian seems so eager to please!” her uncle laughed. “Dear guests, I had hoped to have another fighting demonstration this evening, but I am afraid that the poor slave has grown too weary.” As if scripted, a guard gave the kneeling man a sound kick with his boot, and Otho continued. “I am sure that his mistress will see to it that he is more compliant when the emperor's heir honors us with his presence in two weeks’ time.”

The crowd gasped at the revelation of the imperial son’s visit and started to chatter, and Otho turned his beady eyes to Aelia. “Go then, dear niece. See to your new gift.” His smile was blade-thin, and she feared to misstep. 

Standing shakily, Aelia approached the man, who remained upright and unbowed even as he knelt. She knew that she needed to be bold, that now if ever was the time for her best playacting. The crowd wanted a strong, cruel general’s daughter. She would give them one. Perhaps that would spare them both her uncle’s mercurial wrath.

She extended her hand hesitantly, cowed by the barbarian’s glare. Gathering her courage, she suddenly reached forward and grabbed a handful of the man’s raven locks, yanking his head back. His expression changed to shock for a moment, then immediately returned to anger. Doing her best to ignore the indignant fury radiating from the man, Aelia stared down at him and did her utmost to impersonate her uncle’s haughty inspection. 

“The creature is far too filthy to be of any service in a proper household,” she sneered. “I will not have my slaves kept in the dungeons with the rats and filth.” She turned to one of the guards. “Take him to one of empty chambers in the slaves’ quarters and see that he is sufficiently constrained. I will see to him after our festivities have ended.”

She let go of her hold on his long hair, stepping back to look to her uncle for approval. He seemed reasonably pleased, and his guests were clearly enjoying the show. He nodded his assent, and the guards hefted the gladiator to his feet and led him away, followed by hoots and jeers.

Aelia reclined on her cushion and pretended to laugh at something her neighbor said, mentally preparing herself. Soon, she would have to face him, to decide what to actually  _ do _ with him. She was woefully unprepared.

 

* * *

 

To say that Loki was a bit baffled by the night’s proceedings would be an understatement. He was not surprised by the additional manhandling; no, he had truthfully expected much worse. It was the fair-haired girl’s strangely bold behavior that had him puzzled, as he had played no part in her words this time. He was a master of untruths, and it was clear to him that she was putting on a dramatic performance, but he could not fathom  _ why _ . Was she truly going to such great lengths out of some misguided sense of altruism, or was his influence in her thoughts still lingering?

Either way, she would pay for daring to touch him in such a manner. Loki didn’t care if she’d had some noble intentions or not, she was still just a pathetic little mortal girl. Sooner or later, she would come to know her place.

The guards led him down an unfamiliar corridor, in the opposite direction of the stairs to the dungeons. The walls were the same bright, polished marble as the rest of the villa, although the hallway had no furnishings. He noticed that all of the doors they passed were made from heavy wood and were bolted from the outside. Loki did not like that; he was tired of these never-ending constraints. Gods were not meant to be contained.

The room they shoved him into was small and windowless like his cell, but admittedly much cleaner. There did appear to be a tiny grate near the ceiling that might let in a bit of light during the day, which would be a welcome change. Sitting in one corner was a wooden stool with a bowl next to it, and a simple woolen pallet was spread on the floor. Loki sighed, missing his palatial chambers and massive bed more and more each day. The guards affixed his manacles to a long chain fastened to the center of the floor, then left without another word.  Though it stung his pride to allow himself to be treated in such a way, he knew the intelligent thing to do was to conserve as much energy as possible. 

He settled down in the darkness to wait, certain that the girl would hold by her word and come searching for him shortly. The night was far from over.


	6. VI

Aelia quickly made her way down the marble hall toward the gladiator’s cell, urging herself to be brave. She had insisted that her maid Lavinia remain behind in her chamber, assuring her that there was no need to worry. After all, she told her, he had hardly seemed to have much fight left in him during the banquet. The guards patrolling the hall hailed her with a familiar mixture of obedience and thinly-veiled contempt, before leading her to the furthest cell. It was clear they meant to keep the man isolated.

“Are you certain you wish to go in there alone?” one of them gruffly questioned.

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “After all, he is chained, is he not? And you are only a call away if he requires any… discipline.” She gave them a smile, fighting the sour feeling in her stomach, and the guard guffawed. His companion unlocked the door, and she picked up a lantern and stepped inside. The door thudded shut behind her; she could hear both of their footsteps retreating.

Peering about in the dim light, she took a step forward. The man was nowhere to be seen, and her skin prickled. Perhaps she should have allowed an escort to accompany her, after all. Setting the lamp down on the floor, she noticed the end of the chain secured in the dead center of the room. The chain that now, she saw, trailed off into the corner behind her.

Bolting upright and opening her mouth to scream, she heard the chains rattle and was yanked backwards with a sudden force around her neck. She froze, struggling to breathe, quickly coming to understand that the solid force she had collided with was the man’s chest.  He had been waiting for her, she realized, and now he was more than likely going to strangle her with the excess chain from his manacles. She wiggled, trying to free herself, shoving her elbow into the side where he had been stabbed.

The man gave a surprised laugh and the chain around her neck dug in tighter. It was not the reaction she had hoped for, and she let her body go slack with defeat. He leaned closer, the cold metal of his muzzle pressed against the shell of her ear. Aelia shivered.

 

* * *

 

 _So you do have some fight in you, little mortal. How amusing._ Loki was honestly impressed that the fragile thing hadn’t simply fainted from fright immediately. How desperately he wished to work his seiðr, to make her see all manner of terrifying things in the darkness. Feeding off mortals’ fears of the unknown was one of the god’s favorite tricks. Unfortunately, he would have to get the accursed restraints off before he could do any real mischief.

He slid one large hand up over the girl’s mouth, giving her jaw a rough squeeze. _Stay silent_ was the message, and he hoped that she had the wits to understand. He did not want to kill her yet, as it would massively inconvenience his escape. Slowly, he relaxed the chain, setting her free. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t easily recapture her if necessary, after all.

The girl turned to face him, blue eyes wide and frightened. She made no sound, although he was sure she desperately wished to call for help. That pleased him. Staring her down, he reached his hands up and tapped the muzzle. She simply gawped back at him, and Loki rolled his eyes in frustration. He had no desire to use up any more energy entering the mortal’s mind.

Mayhaps he needed to be more direct. He pointed at the mortal, then tugged at the mask. It did not budge in the slightest, of course, being sealed to his skin with some potent enchantment. His pointed glare seemed to rouse her, and the girl glanced at the mask, then back to his eyes.

“I do not have a key,” she offered weakly.

Loki shook his head, irritation mounting, and lurched forward to grab her hands. Really, why were mortals so painfully oblivious to seiðr? The girl seemed to have frozen up again. Loki supposed he did look rather like a demon in the flickering light, but he had little patience for her fears now. Yanking her hands, he brought them to rest on the edges of the mask. He had a feeling that whatever this spell was, a mortal could lift it. It was as if it had been specifically designed to mock him.

Stirring herself to action, the girl traced her fingers around the edge of the muzzle, seeming to notice for the first time that it had no fastenings. Loki was startled by the gentleness of her touch, soft fingers sliding down his cheek. He was even more startled a moment later, when the girl suddenly dug her fingertips under the metal and ripped it off of his face amidst a flash of red sparks.

Cursing, Loki’s hands flew to his face to check for damage. It felt as if he had been seared by a hot iron, but his skin was smooth and unblemished to the touch. Looking back up, he noticed that the girl had yet to move, alternating her bewildered glances between Loki and the golden muzzle now in her hands. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he smiled.

“Well done, pet,” he whispered, his words rough from disuse. Eliminating the distance between them with one short step, he grabbed a fistful of her long hair, the other gripping her collarbone firmly. How stupid of the mortals, he mused, to leave so much slack in his chains, to make this so easy for him. “But I still must punish you for that little stunt at the feast.” He jerked her hair harder, and the girl’s eyes watered.

“I did it to shield you from further harm,” he heard her whisper, voice tremulous. He did his best not to laugh, surprised by the seriousness in her tone. Loki paused for a moment as the lamplight flickered across her features, truly studying her face for the first time. She nervously bit her lip, and the god found himself strangely transfixed. She truly was an enchanting little creature, so small yet surprisingly brave.

Loki gave an exaggerated sigh and shook his head in mock pity. “You dared to lay hands upon a _god_ , mortal. I fear I must hold you accountable for your sin.” And then, acting on some impulse he did not stop to question, he pulled her into a searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter with a big development.


	7. VII

The God of Mischief was a bit taken aback by how sweet the mortal was. But then, he rationalized, it was not as if he had tasted anything else in weeks, so it was surely a perfectly natural reaction. Just as he began to forget his original intent and lose himself against her lips, he felt a sharp pinch. The little chit had actually _bitten_ him, he realized with indignation, and so he responded in the most reasonable way he could think of; he bit her back, hard. The girl squeaked in discomfort, and Loki tasted a copper tang. Disgusted with her for being so pathetically frail, so _human_ , and with himself for being so easily distracted, he shoved her to the floor, her head cracking against the stone.

The muzzle had flown from her hands and loudly skittered across the floor, but he heard no evidence that the guards were rushing back to protect their mistress. Did they truly think him to be so little of a threat, for their security to be so lax? Grateful for the lack of interruption, he knelt over the dazed girl and wrapped his fingers around her neck. He had neither patience nor pity for a creature that dared to bare its teeth at its master. “I hope you understand, pet, how truly foolish that little display of defiance was.” His thumb traced the delicate line of her pulse, feeling her heart thud along at a frighteningly quick pace. “I had thought to be merciful, but now…” he applied more pressure, trailing off with a wicked grin.

 

* * *

 

Aelia gasped for breath. Her lip stung, her head ached from the collision with the stone floor, and most pressingly, the terrifyingly-quicksilver barbarian seemed likely to squeeze the life out of her at any moment. “But you need me!” she wheezed desperately. It may have been a poor choice of words, for the man’s self-assured smirk faded.

“Need the assistance of a mortal?” he scoffed. He rocked back on his heels, regarding her for a moment, and Aelia scrambled to sit up. “Although,” he said, an unsettling sort of smile returning to his features, “making use of you would certainly make this little adventure on Midgard more bearable.”

“Midgard?” she questioned weakly.

“This realm,” he waved dismissively. “The rock you call home.”

She frowned in confusion. “You are from another… realm, then? How did you come to be here?”

“A simple excursion went a bit awry.” The man’s voice was nonchalant, but his body spoke of tension. Aelia feared to question him in such a way, but the desire to understand what sort of creature she was dealing with now overrode her better judgment.

“May I inquire as to how long ago it went _awry_?”

He shot her a nasty look. “Around a month, according to your time.”

 _According to your time_ , he had said. That was something to puzzle over later. Courage bolstered by the fact that she was still breathing, she dared to say, “Perhaps you require more assistance than you realize.” She immediately regretted her words, expecting him to strike. Instead, his expression returned to that unnervingly blithe smile, his green eyes cold.

“ _Perhaps_ I should kill you in a most painful manner, little girl. And _perhaps,_ when the guards hear your screams for mercy, they shall come running, unlocking this cell door. Then, _perhaps_ , I will free myself and walk out the front gate unhindered, after killing _every last man, woman, and child in this wretched household_.”

Her heart pounded. “I… I do not think that you can,” she whispered.

“No?”

She shivered, much preferring his obvious ire to this false cheerfulness. “If you thought that you could overwhelm all of the soldiers so easily, you would have done so already.”

The barbarian cocked his head, as if he were truly considering her words. “Well, then, mortal, what would you have me do? Please,” he gestured at her, “do share your master plan.”

Aelia was dumbfounded, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. “I can offer you food and water, and other comforts to make this place more bearable,” she said, gazing around the barren cell.

“That is all you would offer to your god?” he sneered. He leaned closer, until his gaze was all but unavoidable. “You will begin with these. I want them removed, now.” He tapped the collar and cuffs.

“I cannot do so, I swear it.” She held up her hands placatingly, being careful not to actually touch him, for he loomed frighteningly near to her. “You vastly overestimate my influence in this place. You are my slave in name only.”

She should not have called him that, she thought immediately, seeing something unpleasant flash in his eyes. “Do you lie to me, child?” He looked toward her injured lip quite pointedly. “Must I punish you further?”

“No!” she cried out, fingers flying to cover her mouth, earning a smirk from the creature before her. “It is the truth, I swear it!”

“More’s the pity, for I am certain you would become quite proficient with practice.” He laughed as she turned away, face flushing with embarrassment. _Where are the guards?_ Aelia’s mind screamed. _Why have they not returned?_ Her frayed nerves were nearing the breaking point, and she was not sure that she could last much longer trapped with this madman.

Much to her surprise, the madman in question suddenly stood, catching her arm and hauling her to her feet. “Go on, then,” he said, smoothing his thumb over her lip. Aelia felt a small spark and trembled. He gave her a surprisingly gentle shove towards the door. “Let us test the merits of your plan. Go fetch offerings for your god.”

Aelia jumped at the chance to escape, quickly rapping on the door to gain the guards’ attention. “And little mortal?” he said. She looked over her shoulder to see him lounging on the small pallet in the corner, looking completely unbothered by the chains or the dried blood and filth. “Do not keep me waiting.”

The door opened and Aelia fled, barely stopping to bid the puzzled-looking guards goodnight. She did not know why the man had decided to let her go so suddenly, nor did she stop to question it. Blessedly reaching her room without incident, she bolted the door and sank down to the floor. Taking deep breaths to steady herself, she realized belatedly that she had left her lantern behind in the cell in her haste to escape. She picked herself up and made her way on unsteady feet to her dressing table, where a few half-melted candles flickered around a pitcher of now-lukewarm water.

She poured the water into a bowl and splashed her face, willing herself to calm down. With shaking hands, Aelia picked up a heavy, burnished silver mirror and peered at her face in the dim lamplight. Though they still stung from the barbarian’s violent kiss, her lips were unmarred. Smoothing a fingertip across her bottom lip, she frowned at her reflection, for she was certain that she had been bleeding. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deny the evidence that the gladiator-turned-slave was something inhuman, terrifying and surprisingly beautiful. What sort of creature had she brought into the villa?

Aelia did not bother to summon a servant to help her undress, unwilling to face anyone in her current state. Once she had unfastened the pins holding her dress in place and stripped down to her undertunic, she pulled open the heavy trunk at the foot of her bed and rummaged inside. Her uncle did not permit her to keep much spending money, but she had a purse that she kept squirreled away for special occasions. Clutching it to her chest, she fell back onto her bed, trying to banish the ghost of a kiss and the man’s mocking laugh from her uneasy mind, hoping that the sunrise would come soon.

She had a priestess to visit.


	8. VIII

The night had seemed to stretch on for an eternity, and the God of Lies had grown impatient. By the time daylight broke, he was in a fine temper. Surely the girl now understood how dangerous it was to so blatantly disregard his commands? He could not fathom why she would test his restraint so. He had allowed himself to close his eyes and rest for a short time, but sleep had evaded him; he felt filthy and restless, and the hunger was finally starting to have an effect. If he was not properly attended to soon, he felt as if he might implode.

He heard her making her approach several hours after daybreak, chattering with the guards outside his door. One asked if she required any assistance, and he listened as she declined, laughing nervously. “My uncle wished for me to handle the barbarian as one of my household duties,” her voice filtered under the door, “and he has not proven troublesome as of yet. I do greatly appreciate your concern, however.” He heard the false flirtatiousness in her words and grimaced, his ire spiking.

The door cracked open a moment later, and the mortal appeared, carrying a large clay pitcher and a basket. She set them down on the floor slowly, keeping a wary eye trained on him as he made to stand. “You kept me waiting, girl,” he stated matter-of-factly, stalking towards her. “The extent of your willful disobedience continues to astound me.”

“I returned as soon as I was able,” she replied, her gaze measuring him carefully.

Something in her manner was different, and Loki reached forward to grab her, recoiling and hissing with pain as soon as his hand made contact with her skin. The girl was breathing quickly now, composure broken. She reached under the neckline of her stola, pulling out a small glass bead at the end of a long, thin leather cord, a bright green and black eye painted upon it. “This,” she said, “is meant to ward against spirits with ill intentions. Although,” she continued, tucking it back under the cloth, “I must admit that I was uncertain if it would offer any protection from you, whatever you may be.”

He glared down at her in silence, a bit stunned. The tiny little charm held pathetically weak Midgardian magic, and under normal circumstances, Loki would have barely noticed its presence. As things were now, it felt as if he had caught an errant blast of Thor’s lightning, and it angered him to realize just how weak he still remained.

“Please,” she said, “sit down.” She pushed the stool into the beam of light filtering through the small grate, and Loki decided to humor her, curious to see what she would do. She poured water into the bowl and reached into her basket, pulling out a cloth and dipping it in the bowl. He could see that she was doing her best to focus on the task at hand, still terrified despite her newfound invulnerability.

“Your charm will not protect you for long,” he said, smiling as she flinched, her hand halfway extended toward his face.

“I know,” she breathed, “but it seems to work well enough for now.” She leaned forward, washing the blood and dirt from his face, and Loki’s eyes began to drift shut. He felt her prodding at his hairline and opened them to find her frowning at a spot on his temple, bloody cloth in hand.

“What?” he snapped, annoyed that she had stopped her ministrations.

“You had a deep cut here just yesterday, I am certain of it. There is no mark.”

“Yes, well, you had a wound of your own, did you not? I see no mark from it, either.” He smirked, immensely entertained by her discomfiture.

“You healed it,” she stated slowly, wringing the cloth out and bringing it back to his face. “Why?”

Loki shrugged. “I had no inclination to share such a _precious_ moment with your friends outside the door.”

“Then you are uninjured yourself?” she asked, and he could hear her struggle to sound casual and collected. She was looking at him rather brazenly now, in his opinion, as if surprised by the visage she had uncovered.

“For the most part, although I do _greatly_ appreciate your concern.”

She blanched, realizing that he had been listening for her through his cell door. Keeping her eyes downcast, she began to scrub at his hands, now trying to avoid his gaze boring down on her head. When the water in the bowl was too dirty to continue, she gave up and handed him the rest of the pitcher and a hunk of bread from her basket. “Here,” she said, “to tide you over. You need a proper bath.”

 

* * *

 

The being before her was staring at her as if she had said something idiotic. “Really, girl, whatever could have given you that idea?” He flourished his arms dramatically, as far as the chains would allow, and Aelia grimaced as she took stock of the state of his skin and clothes. Now that his face was clean and pale skin revealed, she realized just how big of a mess he was currently. She had never seen anyone, slave or gladiator, left in such a way.

“Mocking me serves no purpose,” she said primly, reminding herself that he could not touch her now.

“It makes me feel better,” he laughed, “and I know that it frightens you.”

Well, Aelia could not deny that; he was right, and she knew that the charm she had bought that morning would only last for so long before she would be at his mercy again. She could only hope that she was able to come up with a better plan before her current protection failed her.

“Take me to bathe, then, mortal.” he demanded, voice slicing through her increasingly-anxious train of thought.

“Why do you refer to me in such a way?”

“Mortal? It is simply what you are- weak, vulnerable, short-sighted, short-lived.”

She frowned at him. “Are you truly immortal, then?”

Grinning, he replied, “Truly, girl. I had lived for millennia before Ask and Embla founded the race of men, and I will still endure long after your world has been reduced to ash.”

Aelia did not know what to make of that, but it sounded rather grim. “But you are not invulnerable,” she ventured, casting her eyes to the bloody cloth floating in the now-muddy water. That wiped the smile from his face quickly enough, and while a small part of Aelia was celebrating her victory, she also knew that he would pay her back for it tenfold as soon as he had the chance.

“Recent circumstances have weakened me,” he said smoothly, “but do not worry, for I shall have my power restored soon enough.”

She watched as the man devoured the bread in only a few bites, draining the pitcher. _That is what I am afraid of_ , thought Aelia. “What are you called?” she asked.

“I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, Liesmith, Silvertongue, an heir to the Nine Realms. But you, little mortal,” he stood suddenly, looming over her, “you may call me _master_.”

As Aelia stared up into his fiery emerald eyes, it was almost easy to believe him, for the smooth planes of his face reminded her strongly of the marble carvings of the gods in the temple she had visited that very morning. She sent up a silent prayer that her protective charm was not about to give way, for she knew that her next words were certain to incite his fearsome temper.

“I shall call you Loki, and when we are in public, you must refer to me as ‘mistress’ or ‘my lady,’” she said, doing her best not to flinch when she saw his hands ball into fists. He did not deign to reply. _He should be called God of the Evil Eye_ , she thought, certain that he was envisioning throttling the life out of her. “It will be much easier for you if you behave as they expect you to,” she added quickly. “If you resist, it will only give my uncle and his men an excuse to torture you more. That cannot be pleasant, even for an immortal.”

The man, _Loki_ , she reminded herself, quirked his brow. “You do not wish for them to torture me, little one?”

“I do not wish for them to torture anyone,” she whispered, looking away.

He snorted. “It is a weakness.”

Feeling her cheeks flush with anger, Aelia stepped back and began to gather her things. “The guards will escort you to the bathing chamber shortly. Please,” she begged turning towards the door and giving it a firm knock, “do not give them trouble. I will see that you are provided with new clothes.”

“As you wish, _mistress_ ,” he bowed mockingly as the door opened, and Aelia found herself fleeing the cell once again.

 

* * *

 

Loki sank down into the hot water up to his chin, a bit surprised that Midgardian ingenuity had managed to produce heated baths. Truthfully, he knew that the girl was right; it was worth complying with the Midgardians for the short term, at least until his strength and access to seiðr were restored. He had no intention of resisting his armed escort from the moment he had heard her say “proper bath,” although he never would have told her so.

He ducked his head under, trying to work the grime out of his dark hair; it was down to his shoulders now, and dreadfully tangled. _What would Mother say, if she could see me now?_ he wondered. As much as she favored mortals, Loki was her favorite child, and he was inclined to believe that his current appearance would put Queen Frigga in quite the smiting mood.

The guards who had escorted him had been rough, and he wondered if it had been at his little mistress’s command. For all that she spoke of benevolence, he could not believe that she would be so willing to let him recover easily, unless she still did not understand what kind of power he would wield once he was free. One of the guards in particular had seemed to take a particular dislike of him; he was young and stocky, and Loki recognized his voice from that morning. He had been the one to offer the mortal girl his aid in attending to the _big, frightening_ barbarian.

The man had backhanded him solidly as he was being unchained from his cell floor, sneering about the wastefulness of letting barbarians into the baths. _Jealousy_ , Loki could read it clearly. He wondered if the girl was aware of her admirer. Deciding to practice stoicism, he had ignored the blow, knowing that his indifference would only infuriate the other man more. Besides, it was not worth missing out on the opportunity to feel _clean_ again.

They had removed his shackles and ordered him to strip as soon as they arrived at the bathing room, and he had gladly complied. Peeling off the outer layers of leather was relatively easy, but he winced when it was time to pry the blood-caked tunic off of his chest. He was a bit disturbed to notice how prominent his ribs had become; although he had always been on the leaner side for an Asgardian, he normally maintained a solid layer of muscle. The scrap of bread earlier had done next to nothing; he needed more to eat, and the sooner the better.

Tossing his filthy, ruined leathers at the younger guard with a wink, Loki had strode into the bathing room naked and unbothered. The door slammed shut behind him, and he laughed to himself as he heard the man cursing and ranting to his companion. The god decided that he would see if he could drive the man mad; at least it would provide some grain of entertainment.

The room was small, and as his head burst from the water, Loki now took a moment to look around. There really was not much damage that he could do in here, unless he wanted to drown himself. The room was located in the interior of the villa, and there were no windows, only a small round opening in the ceiling. Directly underneath the opening was a smaller pool, which he assumed was for collecting cold rainwater. The heated bath he sat in now was around twice the size of his bed on Asgard, he estimated, and slightly over waist-deep. It was better than he had expected from this place.

He scrubbed at his skin, watching the past month melt away. A faint scar still remained stretching down the side of his ribs, but he otherwise appeared to be unmarred. As much as he would have liked to unnerve them with evidence of his unnatural healing, he knew that he should probably cover himself before the rest of the mortals could notice. It was better to keep such things hidden for the time being.

Just as he was beginning to grow bored and wondering what he should do next, the door opened and admitted the girl, carrying a bundle of cloth. Loki surged out of the water, and she squeaked in embarrassment and spun around. His laugh echoed in the tiny room as he reached down and picked up a towel, wrapping it around himself. She was so deliciously easy to frighten and tease, and he was becoming inclined to keep her, once this was all over. “I am decent,” he said, approaching her, “your maidenly virtues are safe, for now.”

The girl peered over her shoulder. “These are for you,” she said, turning only for a moment to hand him the bundle, before returning her stare to the door. She must feel very confident in his inability to harm her now, he thought, to expose her back to him. Or perhaps she was just very weak, unworthy prey with little common sense.

Loki dropped the towel and pulled on the garment she had brought, staying only a few feet behind her, knowing that his nearness made her squirm. He stared down at it for a moment in disbelief. “ _Mortal_ ,” he seethed, “what is the meaning of this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and Embla were the first two humans, according to Norse mythology.


	9. IX

He sounded furious, and Aelia spun around in a panic; what she saw, in any other circumstance, would have made her laugh. The dark, coarsely-woven tunic that was the uniform of the most menial slaves in the household was typically short as an indicator of low-status, but it barely even reached the tall barbarian’s knees. It was short-sleeved and unshapely, and he was picking at it and sneering at the material as if it had personally offended him.

“I am sorry. It is what someone in your… position is to wear. The head servant provided it,” she said, hoping that she sounded reassuring. “Many gladiators only wear a loincloth, you see, and he wished to send me off with only that.”

That did not seem to soothe him in the slightest. “I demand trousers. Leggings, breeches, whatever you Midgardians call them.”

“I do not think-”

His hands slammed against the stone on either side of her head, and Aelia quailed, realizing that the charm only shielded her from direct physical contact. “Do you find this amusing, girl?” he snapped, caging her in between his arms. _He_ certainly did not look amused, and she felt her pulse quicken.

“No,” she replied hastily. “Some of the cavalry wear trousers for their excursions in the north. You may have some, if I can find them. Although, it will certainly draw unwanted attention for you to dress in such a way.”

“Adhering to ridiculous mortal social standards is very low on my list of priorities,” he declared, leaning closer. His gaze flickered down to her mouth and he was suddenly a hairsbreadth away. Aelia’s breath hitched. He leaned back just as quickly, a faint smile flirting around his lips, and she felt her head spin at his ever-changing moods. “Do not forget your place,” he said softly, and she found that she could not break his gaze.

Pulse racing from what she assured herself was fear, she turned to move, but he kept his arms in place, trapping her in. “You must let me leave if you wish for me to procure your trousers,” she said, eager to escape from him once again. Perhaps his surprising fussiness about his manner of dress would prompt him to set her free.

“In a moment. Your would-be lover is stewing on the other side of that door, desperate to know why the little mistress visits the _savage_ barbarian alone in the bath.” He raised his brows suggestively.

“Lover?” she said, giving him a puzzled look, determined to ignore his tone.

“The young soldier-boy,” he clarified, “he _desires_ you, little mortal.” Feigning surprise, he exclaimed, “You were not aware?”

Aelia was confused by this latest game of his, though she had come to realize that anything the god said was likely intended to mock and belittle. “I have no lovers, would-be or otherwise. And Otho’s men hold me only in contempt, as does their master.”

“Contempt does not mitigate lust,” Loki replied easily, giving her a look she preferred not to interpret.

“I think, Loki Liesmith, that you are only trying to unsettle me. And I would be greatly appreciative if you would let me be on my way.”

“Very well,” he said, face stern but eyes sparkling with mischief. “Beg.”

She stared at him. “ _Beg_?”

“Have Midgardians no manners? You must beg leave to be dismissed from the presence of a prince, of course.”

Aelia wanted to remind him that whatever he had been, he was now technically her slave, but she bit her tongue. Despite his teasing mood now, he had nearly killed her only a night before, and she did not wish to incur his wrath again so soon. “Please,” she muttered. “Loki.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “We must work on your attitude, pet.” But he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, allowing her to leave.   

She informed the guards that she would return shortly, avoiding eye contact with the younger man that Loki had mentioned. Aelia thought that his name might be Drusus, but she could not be certain, for he had only been in her uncle’s service for a short time. The only thing she knew about him was that he almost always wore a sour expression, and that he usually accompanied Otho on hunting excursions.

It would be best, she told herself as she made her way to one of the villa’s outlying storage rooms, to pay no mind to Loki’s words. He seemed to feed off of discontent, and any creature who proudly proclaimed the title “liesmith” should not be trusted. His strange twists in temperament only left her more wary; she was certain that he would have struck her earlier if not for the charm, but he had acted eerily playful just now.

Aelia ducked into the shed, thankful that she had come on her own rather than sending a servant, for they would likely think her mad for catering to a slave in such a way. She was still wracking her brain for an explanation of her barbarian’s strange clothing, for she knew that she would be questioned. Just as she was expected to look and behave in the proper manner to bring prestige to Otho’s household, so too would the barbarian be meant to wear slave’s clothing and submit. And truthfully, Aelia had no doubt that her uncle would have Loki in the arena again; he had put on too good of a show to be wasted on her.

Digging around in trunks of winter cavalry gear, she pulled out a dusty pair of green-dyed wool pants. She knew that they would likely be too short and it would displease him, but it was the best that she could manage. It was easy enough to find a belt for his tunic, and simple leather sandals. If she was going to defy social convention by dressing her slave in such a way, she decided that she might as well do so wholeheartedly, and she added a grey riding cloak to the pile. Satisfied with her findings, she headed back to the bathing room, hoping desperately that the god’s good mood still endured.

 

* * *

 

Loki’s mood began to turn black not long after the door closed behind the mortal girl. He decided that it must be because he had let her go far too easily, likely giving her the impression that she had some power over him. It was not a notion that he wished to reinforce. It was also a bit disturbing how quickly she had seemed to make peace with the fact that she was now effectively chained to a dangerous, immortal creature from another world; if Loki had found himself in the same position, he would have sought out a way to kill her immediately. In fact, he would not have saved her life in the first place.

He had heard the soldiers’ voices outside the door, and it seemed that several more had appeared from somewhere else in the villa to chat with his primary guards. They were beginning to grate on his nerves, but he listened carefully, knowing that the more gossip he could gather about this place, the more easily he could manipulate its inhabitants. It did not take long to discern that they were discussing the girl, which was unsurprising given the minor uproar she had caused by speaking for him in the arena. What _did_ surprise him was hearing just how little respect they seemed to have for the little mortal, despite the fact that she appeared to be the lady of the household.

“Otho should keep her far from that filth,” said one, his voice gravelly. “It is not proper.”

“No doubt she suffers the same weakness as Sabinus,” someone laughed. It was not a name Loki recognized, but he stored it away for later.

“Were I in Otho’s place, I would have the barbarian executed. Immediately.” _Ah_ , thought Loki, _the admirer speaks._

“For what, Drusus, the crime of standing over a head taller than you? Or because you fear he has caught the eye of Aelia Sabina?”

The other men laughed, and Loki was glad to know that he had contributed to the fool’s ridicule.

“I do not need to catch her eye,” Drusus boasted, “as long as I can catch the rest of her.”

He did not hear what the others had to say in response to that assertion, because his sense of entertainment suddenly dissipated. He stalked away from the door and the idiotic conversation of the soldiers, moving to look at his reflection in the rain cistern. This only made his mood worsen, for he looked utterly ridiculous. As much as he wished that the Bifrost would suddenly open to him, he equally hoped that it did not occur while he was essentially wearing a knee-length potato sack. Thor and the Warriors Three would never let him hear the end of it, especially Fandral, who cared about appearances even more than Loki did.

Loki stood brooding until she returned. He wondered for a moment, as he watched her approach him, if she knew they said such things. It was impossible to imagine a servant in the palace of Asgard speaking so about a noble lady, for fear of retribution.

The girl held out her bundle to him, looking almost… expectant? Hopeful? Loki couldn’t quite place the emotion, but it seemed that she wanted his approval. He took the clothes from her, satisfied that she had been so quick to return, his irritation fading ever so slightly.

Her eyes were fixed on him. “You wish to watch me dress now, little one?” he smirked.

“You are half-clothed already!” she exclaimed, cheeks taking a delightfully pink hue. Loki marveled at just how easy it was to make the mortal blush, especially after seeing her so cold and haughty in front of her uncle. He vastly preferred his version.

She appeared impatient, so he decided to humor her, dressing quickly. He wrinkled his nose at the trousers, which almost managed to reach his ankles, but at least it was an improvement. The cloak was cheaply made and lightweight, as were the sandals. _Why even bother wearing shoes at all?_ he thought.

“Is this satisfactory?”

“No,” he replied, “but it will suffice for now.”

She sighed, whether from relief or disappointment, Loki could not tell. “We are attending a dinner tonight at another patrician’s house, one of my uncle’s political allies. You will be expected to accompany me.”

“Is that so?” he challenged. “And what am I to do while I _accompany_ you?”

“To do my bidding, and to appear… tame?” she ventured, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to protest, “ _Please_ , Loki! You say you are the God of Lies. _Lie!_  Act defeated, and hope that they leave us in peace for the night.”

He was surprised at her little outburst, and noticed that she was nervously fidgeting with the hemline around her neck, likely reaching to her warding charm for reassurance. _How lost she will be when it no longer shields her,_ he thought. “As you do?” he asked, intending it as a barb.

The mortal frowned up at him. “Yes. And it is an approach that has served me well thus far.”

“It is a coward’s way,” Loki retorted. He suddenly thought to the soldiers lingering outside the door. “Will my armed escort be attending _me_ at this banquet?”

“They will be accompanying our party, yes.” She glanced at the seiðr-infused wrist cuffs, as if noticing that he was otherwise unfettered for the first time. “I do not know if they will chain you.”

“What is the matter, mortal? Do you fear to let me loose near the cutlery?” Circling her, he added, “Does your charm only protect you from skin to skin contact, I wonder?” He stopped behind her, thrilled that he had her frozen in place once again. Such perfect prey, these mortals were. “Do you suppose,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear, “it would stop a blade?”

Loki saw the girl twitch, as if she was fighting to keep herself from turning to face him. He was not the only one who had decided to pursue stoicism today, it seemed. It would _almost_ be worth the pain of the charm’s shock to grab her now, just to frighten her, but he could wait. The thing was clearly not designed with a being such as himself in mind; he could feel its power beginning to wane ever so slightly already. Perhaps it was being drained due to his constant nearness, along with his enduring ill-intentions.

Laughing, he turned and headed for the door. “Come along, then,” he called over his shoulder. “I have no desire to stand in the baths for the entire day.”

The girl rushed to catch up with his long strides. “Wait!” she said, fidgeting with something pinned at the side of her stola. “Wear this.”

Her extended hand held a gilt and amber brooch, shaped as a radiant sun.  Careful not to touch her skin, Loki plucked it from her palm. “Are you marking me, little one?” he asked wryly.

“It is my sigil, so yes, in a manner.” Her expression was tight. “But it is also valuable to me, so please guard it with care.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki complied, pinning the sun to the neck of his cloak. He would get rid of it later, after he had the opportunity to get something to eat. After a month, it seemed that he was finally beginning to truly starve. He already looked absurd, so the brooch did not matter much in the grand scheme of things, and he was feeling a bit cheerful at the prospect of a meal and the knowledge that his little mortal’s warding charm would not last long. “Come along then, pet. Let us be on our way,” he said with a mischievous smile, banging on the door to summon the guards.

Making what sounded suspiciously similar to an unladylike groan, the girl stepped into the open doorway and led him into the light.


	10. X

Sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a grape vine arbor in the villa’s kitchen garden, Aelia bit into a slice of dried apple as she studied the man through downcast eyelashes. If he was aware of her scrutiny (and she was almost certain that he was) he seemed content to ignore it, leaning back against a large fig tree with a plate of sausages and cheese resting in his lap. It was the third of the three platters that she had sent for, and she was beginning to grow concerned that he would empty the larder before dinner.

She had insisted that the guards leave him unfettered for the time being, complaining of the noise of the chains and the utter uselessness of a slave who could not move about freely. There was no doubt in her mind that they would make a report to her uncle, but she hoped that he would merely dismiss her behavior as girlish foolishness.

The guard Drusus had kept his hand on the hilt of his shortsword ever since she and Loki had emerged from the bathing room, and she was beginning to grow tired of his hovering. She had ordered that he and his quieter companion, who she had heard Drusus call Dex, should wait aside on the veranda that opened into the garden. Though she had done her utmost to choose a spot that would be out of their field of vision, she could see them pacing back and forth out of the corner of her eye, trying to peer further into the garden. It made Aelia uncomfortable, though she supposed they were only trying to do their duty to protect her life.

It did not seem to require much protecting at the moment. _The way to a god’s heart must be through his stomach_ , she thought, for the man had not sent even a single sneer her way since the trays of food appeared. She was surprised by how easily he had followed along behind her, the guards awkwardly hovering on either side. It had made for a strange little processional, and she was dearly thankful that the corridors of the villa were so empty at this time of day.

Noticing that he seemed to be finishing off the last morsel, she decided that it would be as good a time as any to prepare him for their excursion that evening, hoping that the tremendous amount he had just consumed would keep him complacent for a while. “Loki!” she called, but he held up a finger for her to wait, not even bothering to look her way as he picked up the nearest water jug and slowly drained it.

He tossed it aside and shifted slightly towards her, and suddenly Aelia’s brief respite from his piercing green gaze was ended. “I do not recall,” he said, keeping his voice low and his expression pleasantly bland, “giving you permission to use my given name, little one.”

Glancing at the guards to make sure they were out of listening range, she replied, “I will not call you master, Loki of Asgard.”

The man had the audacity to smile. “Of course you will, girl. Along with a great many other things, I would imagine.” His expression took on a slightly more predatory look as he gracefully rolled to his feet, coming to stand over her. “Although, the longer you rebel against your natural place, the more painful the lesson will be in the end.”

“And where is my place?”

“Kneeling, of course,” he laughed, crouching down so that he was eye-to-eye with her. “At my feet.” The man’s voice seemed to slide across her skin like a caress, and Aelia shivered, suddenly regretting her choice to break the peaceful silence. The man sighed, rolling his eyes. “Do not pout so, mortal. You have distressed your watchdogs.”

She turned to look over her shoulder, and the two were indeed heading straight towards them. Worry sped through her, and she looked back at Loki with pleading eyes. He frowned slightly, but stood and took a step back just as the soldiers reached them. Aelia did not wait for them to address her, instead asking, “Is something the matter?” with a voice uncharacteristically saccharine. In her peripheral vision, she could make out that the barbarian’s increasingly-familiar sneer had reappeared.

“The slave seemed to be threatening you, my lady,” Dex ground out.

“He was certainly not showing you the proper respect,” Drusus added, “and we are here to ensure that he learns his place.”

“Oh, you men are always looking for a fight,” she laughed, waving their concerns away. “I merely wished to examine the collar that he wears, for none of our other slaves have such a thing. I have seen them in other households, of course, but never made of gold.”

Drusus nodded. “It is unusual, indeed. He was wearing it when he was acquired, I believe.”

“Do you know if my uncle intends to leave it on him?”

“I would assume so, my lady, but I do not know for certain.” He looked slightly irritated by this line of questioning, no doubt disappointed that he was denied the opportunity to draw his sword.

“I see,” was all she said in acknowledgement. “You may return to your post, then.” She could practically feel Loki’s annoyance building as they stood and discussed him as if he were not there, and she hoped to end the conversation before he reached a boiling point.

“Does the slave understand your words, Sabina?” Drusus asked.

“I do,” Loki cut in, staring down at the shorter man in contempt. “And I understand yours, as well.” The soldier bristled, and Aelia groaned internally. Why could he not refrain from speaking, just this once?

“How fortunate for us all,” she said blithely, “for now we shall have no misunderstandings. A slave who cannot understand is a slave who cannot serve.” _Loki will kill me for that later,_ she thought, but she was currently more concerned with ensuring that no one ended up skewered in the kitchen garden that afternoon.

“We will need to return the barbarian to his cell soon, my lady,” Dex interjected. “So that you will have time to prepare for the banquet this evening. Your uncle is in town on business today, but he has informed us that he will meet us at Zoninus’s villa.”

Aelia looked at Loki standing there in the sunlight, tall and proud, and something inside her chest twinged at the thought of sending him back to that dark, tiny cell so soon after he had left it. She blinked up at them, acting confused. “But he is _my_ slave, is he not? Uncle expressly gave him to _me_ , and there is no point in having him if he is kept locked up like a common prisoner.”

The guards exchanged a glance, but they could not argue, for Otho had very publicly announced that the barbarian was hers to command. “What would you have us do, Sabina?” asked Drusus. “We are not to let him wander about the property freely. The master was very clear on that.”

She frowned, afraid that if she ordered the three of them to remain behind in the garden, chaos would soon reign. It would be best if she kept them close. Making a hasty decision, she said, “You will have to accompany me to my chamber, then. I suppose you will just have to make yourselves comfortable in the hallway while you wait.” If she had hoped that the thought of this would be so unappealing that they would abandon their post, she was to be sorely disappointed, for both of the guards nodded in acceptance.

“Go wait on the veranda, then. I will be ready to leave shortly.” They headed back to their post, visibly discontent, and Aelia breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the encounter could have gone much, much worse.

“I do not understand why you try to provoke them,” she said, turning to look up at Loki, “especially when they are armed, and you are not.”

He laughed at her, though there was not much mirth in it. “Very few do understand me, mortal. You should not concern yourself with it.”

“At least attempt to avoid any altercations while I am being dressed,” she pleaded. “It will be a very trying night, and I would prefer to avoid any unpleasantness for as long as possible.”

“What is to happen tonight?”

“It is a simple dinner party, but most of the attendees will be…” her face scrunched up as she tried to think of an appropriate description, “disagreeable. Zoninus is a terrible man, which is likely why he and my uncle get along so well. He is very rich, and also very well-connected to the imperial family. His daughter, Drucilla, is equally cruel and terribly spoiled,” she glanced at him, “and she will likely try to purchase you from me, so be forewarned.”

Loki gave her a strange look. “And why would she attempt to _purchase_ me?”

Aelia fidgeted with the cord of her pendant, hearing his voice take an edge at the reminder that he was currently no better than property. “She despises me,” she admitted, “and it will drive her mad that I have something that she does not, and there is also your…” she hesitated, struggling for words again, “appearance.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin. “My appearance?” he prompted, the edge to his words vanishing. “What do you mean to suggest about my appearance, little mortal?”

“Be quiet!” she hissed, quickly checking to make sure that the guards were out of range, “unless you wish for the entire household to know that you claim immortality.” He ignored her words and continued to look at her expectantly, and Aelia felt her cheeks heat up, unsure how to respond. “You are very well-made,” she finally said, hating how awkward and stiff she sounded. “And Drucilla has a legendary fondness for the physique of gladiators.”

“A fondness which you share, I think,” he teased, some darker expression glittering in his eyes.

“You are not like other gladiators,” she replied without thinking, realizing her mistake at once as Loki laughed.

 

* * *

  

She was so easy to read, he thought, watching as she struggled over her admission that she considered him attractive. Loki _knew_ that he was appealing, of course, but he greatly enjoyed the discomfort it seemed to cause her to confess that she was aware of it, too. It was almost entertaining enough to make up for the fact that she had just mentioned another mortal wishing to purchase him as if he were livestock, and he decided to be benevolent for the time being. “No,” he said, “I am not like other gladiators, indeed.”

He knew the little mortal would try to escape now, as she always did, and was unsurprised when she practically leapt from her bench and began walking towards the veranda. “Come along, then,” she called out. “We do not have much time.”

Loki silently stalked after her, and the strange, grimly-silent little group was soon in an area of the villa that he did not recognize. It was more finely-furnished and decorated, although the polished marble and stone were similar enough to the hallway outside of his cell. Servants and slaves hurried by on various assignments, most openly staring at him. The girl finally stopped when they reached a door midway down the hall, turning to address them. “Wait here,” she demanded, “and see to it that you do not cause any trouble.” Her eyes were on him, but he could tell that her words were equally directed at the guards. “Drusus, go fetch Lavinia and tell her that I am ready to be dressed.” Then she turned and waltzed into her room, allowing the door to slam closed behind her.

She played a spoiled little rich girl very well, he thought, imperious and conceited. Drusus marched off to do her bidding without a word, shoulders stiff, and Loki briefly entertained the image of her attired as the Lady Sif, barking orders at men twice her size. She would look quite charming in armor, really, golden hair flowing down her back in war braids. He had seen sheild-maidens of a similar size among the Ljósálfar of Alfheim, though physically they were nearly as indestructible as the Aesir, despite their smaller stature. The little Midgardian would not fare so well in battle.

He decided that standing was a waste of energy and chose to sit down, leaning against the wall with his long legs crossed. The older watchdog seemed unlikely to stop glaring at him any time soon, so Loki closed his eyes and leaned his head back, wondering if he had time to take a nap. It was still only late afternoon, so he did not understand why she had to prepare so early. Although, he did remember how much the court women fussed about their appearance before any of the palace functions on Asgard, so perhaps that was typical female behavior here, as well.

Footsteps caught his attention, and he looked to see Drusus returning, along with a varied group of women. There was a familiar face among them, a dark-haired woman that he recognized from the arena. Her clothes were plain but well-made, so he assumed she must be a higher-ranking servant, the one his mortal had summoned. The girls following her wore belted tunics of varying lengths and quality, though none, he noted, were as short or as unshapely as his own. The maidservant and her entourage breezed past him with curious glances, shutting the door firmly behind them. It reminded Loki in some small way of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting, and he felt a small twinge of homesickness, which he quickly banished. He would be back in the gilded palace of Asgard soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day: Reynardine (specifically the Martin Carthy version). I’m starting to notice that this fic is drawing a lot of energy from my love of old ballads/folktales and their accounts of alluring (but dangerous) elves, fairies, and outlanders. 
> 
> Also, thank you once again to everyone who has left a kudos and/or comment! Y'all are the best!


	11. XI

Loki had been resting against the wall outside of the mortal’s bedchamber for some time, and he had just begun to drift off when he was rudely roused with a kick to the shin. Opening his eyes slowly, he glared up at the younger guard, who clearly did not intend to heed his mistress’s warning to avoid causing trouble. He briefly considered the idea of leaping up and snapping the man’s neck, but it was true that he was still too weak to fight his way through the army that would surely appear if he did, so he repressed the urge. It was surprising that the man was acting so boldly now that Loki was unfettered, especially considering his little gladiatorial display; he could only assume that the guard had missed it.

“On your feet, slave,” he ordered. “It is time to put your chains back on before we leave the villa and go out into the town.”

Loki just looked at him a moment before closing his eyes again. Why waste time on the foolish mortal when he wasn’t in the mood to cause mischief? Besides, he had a strong suspicion that his little mistress would reward him with more food if he avoided trouble tonight. He was not above being bribed just this once, especially now that his hunger was moderately satiated; he felt better than he had in weeks.

“I said stand!”

“Let us see what my mistress has to say about it,” Loki replied, unmoving. Inside he was laughing, knowing that calling the girl _his_ would grate on the other man. Well, perhaps he was _slightly_ in the mood to cause mischief, after all. The man did not reply, and Loki knew that he was likely paralyzed with indecision, wanting to attack him but knowing that the girl was within earshot.

Suddenly he heard the door open, as if on cue, and he opened his eyes to see her standing there, looking slightly anxious. He wondered if she had been able to hear them through the door. Her hair was piled atop her head, a complicated-looking construction filled with twists and braids, and a few loose ringlets hung down around her face. The dress she wore was a crisp white, with brightly-colored leaves embroidered around the neck and hem. Loki’s eyes were caught for a moment by the slight rouge on her lips. She was certainly dressed to impress, and he wondered who might be the target of this display.

“Let us be on our way,” she said smoothly, clearly trying to disrupt the tangible tension in the hallway.

“The barbarian must be chained, my lady, before he-”

“ _The barbarian_ , Drusus, will be walking alongside my litter with the two of you, and any added impediments are unnecessary and will only slow us down,” she sniffed. “If your fear of my house slave is so great, I suggest that you take it up with my uncle and request a new post.” The mortal was in fine form tonight, it seemed. She spun on her heel and strode down the hall, her serving women trailing behind her. Loki jumped to his feet and followed, leaving the guards no choice but to run along after him, trying to match his long strides.

He caught up to her easily, but the women around her prevented him from getting too near; a few of them shot him disapproving looks as they clustered around the girl, and he wondered if they were actually frightened for their mistress. It was likely that the handmaiden had relayed an account of his battle from the previous day; he considered their concern very sensible, although he was taken aback by their apparent loyalty.

When they were finally outside, the mortal dismissed everyone aside from her handmaiden, himself, and his guards. Six men were waiting next to a simply-made covered litter, and she sent him a glance that he thought may have been intended as encouraging before she climbed inside, followed by the maid. The litter was hefted into the air, and the party headed out onto the hard-packed dirt road that led into town.

 

* * *

 

Aelia was a bundle of nervous tension for the entirety of the trip to Zoninus’s estate, expecting to hear a scuffle break out at any moment. The path lead them through the town proper, as their destination was just on the other side; the wealthy preferred to keep their sprawling mansions on the outskirts, where they were far away from the noise and pollution of the lower classes. Fortunately, her litter-bearers knew to avoid the busier avenues, where her new slave was sure to draw attention. She feared how he would react to shouts and jibes from random passersby.

It took nearly half an hour, and she practically leapt out of the vehicle once they had arrived. Loki’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and she gathered that he had struggled to restrain himself during their journey. The guards’ faces were equally tense. Aelia was relieved to see that servants were already waiting outside to escort them into the villa, for she had no wish to interact with the unpleasant soldiers any more than necessary. “Stay close to me,” she commanded, and the barbarian and her handmaiden kept near on either side of her as they headed into the sprawling mansion.

She hated this place. It held many unhappy memories, as she had often been forced to spend long days there throughout her childhood with Drucilla, her uncle’s idea of the perfect playmate for a respectable Roman daughter. The other girl had teased her mercilessly for years, offering backhanded compliments and taunting barbs. However, she did have Drucilla to thank for one thing; it was based upon her that Aelia had crafted the haughty, disdainful persona that she was often required to use when attending to her uncle’s friends and allies.

A slave came around the corner carrying firewood, and she noticed Loki’s gaze was fixed on the man’s forehead, where the letters FVG were tattooed. “It stands for _fugitivus_ ,” she said under her breath, “the mark of a runaway. I told you that Zoninus was cruel.”

Loki’s eyes met hers, but he said nothing. She hoped that meant that he understood what a dangerous place this was, that he knew to be compliant, if only just for this night. He had been showing an impressive amount of self-control thus far, and it was a bit shocking when she contrasted it to his behavior from the night before.

Many of the dinner guests had already arrived in the dining hall, and they were reclining on various couches and cushions scattered around a large open space in the middle of the room, where a modestly-dressed young woman was currently plucking at a harp. Most were chattering away with their neighbors, paying the musician no mind, although her little group’s entrance was beginning to draw some notice. Aelia’s stress increased as she neared the couch where she was expected to lie, for Otho was already there waiting for her. She passed a column and spotted Marcus Juvenus on the other side of her seat. Her stomach plummeted.

“Loki,” she whispered, “listen carefully. You will have to sit on the ground next to me, or stand behind the couch. If something happens here, if you offend my uncle or the master of this house, there is little I can do.”

_Peace, girl_ , something whispered in her mind, and she looked at him in alarm. Loki just winked at her. He did not seem overly concerned about the evening. She supposed that once you had lived for as long as he claimed, very little managed to surprise.

“Welcome, Aelia Sabina!” Marcus Juvenus cried out, noticing her before the others. Aelia forced the well-practiced smile to her face as the rest of the higher status guests, who were all arranged in close proximity to Zoninus and his family, turned to look at her.

“Greetings, Senator,” she nodded, “Uncle.” Otho welcomed her with a genial smile that she knew was as false as her own, and motioned for her to join them. “How kind of you to invite us into your home once again,” she said to Zoninus, ignoring his daughter altogether.

“Oh, darling, you brought along the barbarian!” Drucilla exclaimed, sitting up on her chaise longue. “Otho told us that you would, but I was afraid that he would put up too much of a struggle. We have all been just _dying_ to see him up close.”

Aelia bristled, but took her seat. “No struggle at all, dear,” she said sweetly. She was taken aback when Loki chose to sit down on the floor next to her couch, as he usually seemed so fond of menacing everyone with his impressive height, and wondered if he was more tired than he had let on. His guards moved to stand behind them. Too many people’s eyes were on her now, and she did her best to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of being in the spotlight.

“How has your new gift been behaving, niece?” asked Otho.

“Well enough,” she said, “although I have been unable to set him to any tasks, as he has been constantly accompanied by soldiers.”

“Ah, but it is a necessary precaution for such a feral creature, and Drusus and Decimus are excellent men for the job.” So the two watchdogs were to keep shadowing her, it seemed. How disappointing. At least Loki was remaining subdued, for the moment.

“Uncle,” she said, desperate to divert their attention, “what can you tell us of the crown prince’s visit? It does not sound like we have long to prepare, if he is truly arriving within the fortnight.”

“Basileus Maximus will be travelling here along with a small legion of fighting men from the capitol. We will be hosting the crown prince and his officers, as well, and the rest will set up a camp outside of the town.”

“It should be quite good for business,” Zoninus said, “though I hope they do not drain our resources overmuch, as the winter approaches.”

“Indeed. It is an odd season to begin a military campaign, but the emperor, in his wisdom, seemed to think it best that he gains campaign experience with haste.”

“How long will they be staying?” another man asked.

“Several weeks. Aelia,” he said, turning back to her, “you have quite a lot to prepare. I will be away on business for the next week, and there is much to be done in my absence. I am sure Drucilla will be most happy assist you, if necessary.”

“Of course she would be delighted,” Zoninus asserted, the men acting oblivious to the thinly-veiled daggers the two girls were shooting at each other.

“Of course,” Drucilla repeated, giving Otho a simpering smile. “And what of the games?”

“Your father and Senator Marcus have graciously offered their help in arranging them. They should be quite glorious,” he said, “and of course, we wish to include plenty of barbarians. The soldiers shall greatly enjoy that. That includes yours, as well, niece, for the masses found him extremely entertaining.”

Aelia had expected as much, but she still found herself unable to respond. She glanced down and noticed that Loki’s jaw was tight, but he seemed to be mostly tuned out of the conversation around him. It did not seem wise to argue with her uncle, especially not here, where she was surrounded by these wolves.

“Have the slave stand, Sabina, so that we might examine him,” Marcus said, voice unnecessarily loud. It seemed that he was already drunk.

And so here it was, the moment she had been dreading all day. Aelia was filled with apprehension, but there was nothing she could do. If Loki did not play along, there would be serious consequences. “Stand, Loki,” she commanded, prodding him with her foot.

 

* * *

 

Loki’s eyes snapped to the girl’s face, indignant. He wanted to say, “Touch me with your foot again, and I shall break it off,” but she already looked adequately terrified. It somehow satisfied his anger to know that she _knew_ he would punish her eventually. Somewhat mollified, he decided to add it to his ever-growing list of wrongs committed against him, assured that he would be revenged soon enough. He stood slowly, and turned to face them. Midgardians were so strange, he thought, lying down to dine. It looked bizarre, and they seemed even more pathetic as he towered over them.

The olive-skinned brunette that his mortal seemed to hate was openly appraising him. “Octavia will be so disappointed that she missed this!” she exclaimed. “You must bring him over again, Sabina.”

The girl bristled, and he wondered why she appeared to react so negatively to being addressed by what he assumed was her father’s name. _Odinson_ was a term of respect, a title that he was proud to have. What weakness was it that the guards had mentioned, that made an association with this Sabinus so shameful?

“He is quite tall,” the man called Zoninus remarked. “Certainly a good investment.” Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes, imagining how these greedy little humans would react to the golden gleam of the Realm Eternal.

“Why is he dressed so?” the intoxicated older man said with a puzzled tone, resting a hand on his little mortal’s forearm. He saw how she stiffened, and while he should have enjoyed her discomfort, he felt a strange sort of irritation rise from deep in his chest.

“I thought that it would be entertaining to keep him dressed as a barbarian,” she said, smiling thinly. “He stands out quite a bit, does he not? I shall be the envy of the town.”

The men around her laughed, but the other woman did not. “You are truly a marvel, Aelia,” the old man said, keeping his hand in place. Loki was no stranger to political matchmaking, and it was obvious now why the girl had been so delicately made up before the banquet. He recognized the desire to flee in her eyes, being so often the cause of it himself.

“An interesting choice, niece,” said the one called Otho, his mortal’s uncle. “But very creative, I must admit. You women do enjoy showing off your new playthings.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Remove your tunic,” the brunette suddenly demanded, sitting up on her couch.

“No,” his little mistress snapped, more forcefully than he had ever heard her before. “Sit, Loki.” _Well, this should be entertaining,_ he thought, folding himself back down onto the floor. He felt something faintly brush against the back of his hair, and turned to look at her in surprise, but she kept her eyes fixed on the other woman. It was meant to be a covert signal, he assumed, of solidarity. She was growing too comfortable with him; he would have to rectify that once he had her alone again.

“I do not intend to prostitute out my new slave to you, Drucilla, especially during your father’s dinner party.” Her tone was joking, but the barb seemed to hit home. The other woman turned red, and a few men chuckled.

“Peace, ladies,” Zoninus leapt in before his daughter had a chance to retort. “There is no cause to bicker over slaves. You can both afford as many as you want.”

“Yes, father,” the brunette sniffed, and abruptly turned to start a conversation with a scrawny, eager-looking mortal man sitting next to her.

As the night wore on, Loki turned his attention inward, drowning out the droning of the mortals and their increasingly drunken laughter. The wellspring of seiðr within him was coursing ever so slightly more now, and the power that he had lost when he inadvertently healed himself was starting to replenish. Though he was a creature of chaos and mercurial temperament, Loki was very capable of playing the long game. He saw how greatly the nourishment and rest had aided his recovery, and if he needed to feign complacency in order to restore himself more quickly, then so be it.

For the most part, the mortals left him alone, the men discussing some tedious political drama in their beloved capital city. The girl was mostly silent, although she was occasionally called upon to speak by the man who kept leering at her, his behavior becoming more and more obvious throughout the evening. Her voice was strained when she did speak, and she finally asked her uncle if she might be excused.

“It has been a tiring day, and the next week or so shall be very busy as we prepare for the crown prince’s visit,” she added.

“Very well,” he said, dismissing her. “I will not be returning home before my journey, although I should be back within the week. Do see that the villa is well-tended in my absence.”

His mortal murmured her assent and stood, exiting the room with a practiced saunter. Loki followed behind, the two guards and her maid appearing from somewhere in the back of the room to join them. She sent the maid ahead to call for their litter, and turned down a side hallway. “The cook here makes the best honeycakes,” she said to no one in particular, “and she has always had a soft spot for me.” The guards looked puzzled, but stood silently by Loki as she ducked into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a cloth-covered basket. “Carry this,” she ordered Loki, and then headed for the villa’s entrance.

They made their way back to the estate without much ado; everyone seemed to be tired and slightly on-edge, and his guards, it seemed, were eager to reach their destination and be rid of him for the day. “I am going to take some air in the garden,” the girl announced when they had arrived. “Lavinia, you may retire for the evening.”

And so Loki found himself back under the same tree from that afternoon, studying the girl as she sat in the moonlight. Her bright white dress and pale skin seemed almost radiant, and he found that, at least for the moment, he had lost the drive to punish her for her over-familiarity at the banquet.

“You should eat those,” she said after a few minutes of quiet, nodding to the basket still in his hands. “They really are the best thing to be had for miles around.”

He gave her a skeptical look. What game was she playing at?

The mortal laughed softly, blue eyes meeting his. “I thought that gods desired offerings of milk and honey.”

He could not understand why she seemed so somber. “I suppose we do,” he stated, unsure of what else to say, the urge to tease and bait her strangely diminished. He decided to devour the sweets instead, before he was turned over to the guards again.

“I am sorry, Loki,” she said after another moment.

“What are you apologizing for specifically, mortal? You have transgressed in a great many ways, and I am not a forgiving god.”

“They will put you in the arena to fight again, and I cannot prevent it.”

Loki laughed at that. _This_ was why the girl seemed so despondent? “It does not concern me,” he told her. “Mortal men offer little competition and little sport. It will be a nuisance, but nothing more. I was at my weakest when I battled in that arena before, girl,” he added, seeing her unconvinced expression. “I am already much recovered, as I am sure you have noticed.”

The girl sighed, dropping her head into her hands. Loki was uncomfortable; he had never really _talked_ to a Midgardian like this before, and he was not fond of the sensation. So he did what he always did when faced with a situation that unsettled him- he decided to go on the offensive.

“It seems you have a great many admirers, little one,” he smirked at her. “That old fool at the banquet seemed completely smitten by your charms.”

That seemed to rouse her, and her glare lifted Loki’s spirits. “He is favored by my uncle, not me,” she said. “Though I think Otho may be leading him along while he waits for a better prospect, as there has never been a formal discussion of our betrothal.”

“The man who visits,” Loki said, pieces suddenly clicking into place. “The mortal prince.”

She stared at him in horror. “No,” she whispered.

“I am certain of it. What better way to win the loyalty of a hot-headed young prince than to offer him a beautiful maiden? A _sacrifice_ , if you will.” Loki grinned at her now, feeling his control returning. Leaning as close as he dared without drawing the attention of the guards, he whispered, “Who could resist such temptation?”

Predictably, she stood and turned to walk away, always so ready to escape him. “You won’t be able to run from me always, little girl,” he called after her. Her shoulders stiffened, but she did not turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, the ‘crown prince’ wasn’t a position that really existed in the ancient Roman empire, and the line of succession was not necessarily hereditary, as early emperors were careful to maintain the appearance that they were merely ‘first citizens’ of the republic. For the sake of this story, I decided to make things a lot more monarchical. 
> 
> Zoninus’s name is taken from an actual artifact from ancient Rome, a slave collar that reads, “I have run away; hold me. When you have brought me back to my master Zoninus, you will receive a gold coin.”


	12. XII

It was nearly five days before Loki saw her again. A strange monotony had taken hold of his waking moments. His sleep was still restless, and he woke every morning as soon as the thin beam of light began to filter through the grate in his cell. One of his mortal’s maids would bring him a basket of food and wait outside until he was finished; he assumed that she did not trust the guards to let him eat in peace. They would escort him to the kitchen garden for exactly one hour, then take him to the bathing chamber. A slave appeared to take his clothes to wash a few times, which was unexpected. It did seem that she had given orders for him to be kept comfortable.

They would allow him to wander around in the training grounds behind the villa for a while, but without any weapons or anyone to spar with, he could not make much use of them. His other meals were taken in his cell, where he was kept for most of the afternoon and evening. The tedium was excruciating, especially after following the past few days of excitement. Where was she hiding? Loki knew that the mortal could not stay away forever.

He had taken the time to reflect upon his strange lack of bite during their last day together, and had decided that it had been a mistake to allow a mortal to speak to him so freely. For a moment, perhaps, he had humored her out of pity and a desire to get what he wanted, but that time was over. She was nothing more than an ant to him, and if she did not treat him with the proper fear and respect, she would have to suffer the consequences.

Aelia had been rushing about with very little rest for days, trying to make the household ready for the royal visit. She had even been forced to endure the trying presence of Drucilla, who she was quickly beginning to despise more and more, the girl constantly enquiring as to ‘wherever she was keeping her barbarian.’

She was keeping _her barbarian_ far from Drucilla; in fact, she was keeping him far from everyone, both out of a fear for his safety and the fact that prolonged exposure to the _mortals_ he so despised might finally cause him to snap and kill them all. After their last encounter, when he had mocked her for her concern for him, she was not eager to face him again. ‘ _You will not be able to run from me forever_ ,’ he had said. Aelia knew it was the truth, and she dreaded to think what he might do when he finally caught her.

Otho would be returning soon, however, and she could delay the inevitable meeting with Loki no longer, for they would need to come up with some plan of action to survive the crown prince’s visit. The god spoke of otherworldly powers that were being slowly restored to him, but she had yet to see anything that would allow him to fight his way out of entire legions unscathed; she knew her uncle would put him down like a mad dog at the slightest provocation, even if he lost a good many men doing so.

 _“Civilization must always win in the end, Aelia,”_ he had told her on more than one occasion, as if he had any right to speak of being civilized. An escaping barbarian slave would be a blow to his pride he would not allow.

He should be in the bathing chamber now, if the guards were keeping to the relatively strict schedule she had given them. She did not want Loki wandering about the villa causing chaos and brawling with his escort, but she also knew that they would likely lock him in his cell and throw away the key if she did not expressly forbid it.

They were leaning against the wall when she arrived, both looking a bit bored and sullen, although they did a halfway-decent job of standing at attention when they noticed her. “Open the door,” she ordered. “I need to speak with my slave.”

Drusus pulled out his keys slowly, as if the action pained him. “Do you want us to accompany you, my lady?” he asked.

“That will not be necessary. In fact, now would be an excellent time for one of you to go fetch something for yourselves to eat. It is promising to be a very busy day.”

Decimus nodded, and Drusus unlocked the door, allowing Aelia to slip inside, the click of the lock securing behind her becoming worryingly familiar. The day was overcast, a storm rolling in from the west, and the small amount of light filtering in from the opening in the ceiling did little to illuminate anything other than the very center of the room. Aelia frowned. Why were there no lamps lit? She would have to speak to the servants about that.

She moved forward into the room carefully, expecting him to leap out from the shadows to frighten her, certain that he would not have taken well to being ignored for nearly a week. “Loki?” she called, but he made no reply.

Skin prickling with a growing sense of anxiety, Aelia stepped closer to the bathing pool, its surface as flat and unbroken as her mirror. “Loki?” she tried again, more shakily this time, for she was beginning to fear that he had either been murdered, or escaped.

Dropping to her knees by the side of the pool, she leaned over the water, trying to make out anything other than her own worried expression. A hand suddenly shot out of the water, grabbing her arm for just a fraction of a moment, and she jerked away in terror, falling back onto her elbows, too startled to even scream.

There Loki stood, waist-deep in water, examining the steam rising from the palm of his hand with great interest. As Aelia gaped and gasped for breath, he slowly turned his head to grin at her. “Hello, little mortal,” he said, eyes glittering. “How I have _missed_ you.”

He leaned forward and Aelia scrabbled back a bit, eyes wide. “Do not make me call for the guards,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. 

The god’s lip quirked, and he crossed his arms, studying her for a moment. “Do you really believe,” he said, tone patronizing, “that there is any chance those buffoons could make it in here before I caught you and pulled you under?” He was looking at her legs in a calculating manner, and Aelia quickly pulled them further from his reach, scooting back again. He chuckled.

“It may even be worth the sting,” he continued, eyes illuminated in the dim light. “You have yet to scream for me, girl. I think I could make you.”

Aelia did not believe she could even speak at the moment, caught in his gaze like a mouse before a viper. “Stop this, Loki,” she whispered desperately. “ _Please_.”

He smiled then, menacing intensity suddenly vanishing like smoke, and sank deeper into the water. “What shall you do, now that your little charm is nearing the end of its abilities?” he teased. “Will you go back to your temples and your shamans, begging for something more powerful?” She said nothing, and Loki studied her face carefully. “No,” he said, eyes lighting up with mirth, “You will not go back. That was the strongest protection they could offer, wasn’t it? Against a _god_ , no less. Mortals truly are _weak_.”

“I did not say that you were a god,” she said softly. “I told them it was for an evil spirit. And how,” she added, unable to hold herself back now that she had begun, “how is it that you ended up here, if mortals are so weak?”

“I was betrayed,” he snapped. “The mortals had assistance from a being belonging to my realm.”

“It seems as if you have many enemies,” Aelia ventured.

Loki shrugged. “I do. I am the God of Lies, and of Mischief; I enjoy causing chaos,” he said, “and pain.”

He sounded very matter-of-fact, and perhaps even a little proud, so she just continued to stare at him. How could she possibly reply to such a statement? 

“Would you care to come into the water, _my lady,_ ” he said with an impish smirk, “or do you intend to just sit there and stare at me all day?”

Aelia frowned, and closed her eyes for a moment, willing her nerves to calm. “Otho will be back tomorrow,” she said. “And then the emperor's son will arrive with his men only a week after that.”

“Ah,” he cut in, “your intended.” 

She glared at him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply, for she knew he was intentionally goading her. “He is a dangerous man, Loki! They both are. You must listen to me.”

He gave her a strange look she could not decipher, but blessedly held his tongue. “My uncle will be glad to torture you,” she said, “so you must do as they say, as _I_ say, unless you wish to end up in the same condition as when I found you. Do you want that?”

“No,” he said sullenly, clearly displeased that his fun had ended. “I do not.”

Heaving a somewhat-relieved sigh, Aelia got to her feet, ready to escape the darkness. “Let us go,” she said, looking around the room. “Where are your clothes?”

“I have none, _mistress_ ,” he smiled, winking at her. “A servant took them away some time ago.” He glided through the dark water, following her as she moved around the edge of the pool towards the door. “Shall I get out?”

 _Gods give me strength_ , she prayed, gritting her teeth. “No,” she snapped. “Wait here.” Then she stormed over to the door, determined to hunt down every servant in the villa until someone brought her _something_ to cover up the naked god in her bath.

 

* * *

 

Loki sank down into the water up to his chin, immensely pleased with himself. The girl feared him again, a delicious, nearly-tangible emotion, and all was as it should be. Even better, the moment he had grabbed her arm had burned painfully, but it was not more than he could take. He _could_ have pulled her into the water, if he had felt it worthwhile; that was satisfying enough for now, for it was visible evidence that his power was increasing even more rapidly.

The door cracked open a moment later, but the girl not enter. Instead, someone tossed a bundle of cloth into the room. Chuckling, he climbed from the pool and got dressed, seeing no reason to linger now that the little mortal was on the other side of the door, too nervous to even be alone with him again.

“I am ready,” he called, banging on the heavy wood. The young guard that hated him opened the door with a sneer, and Loki gave him a cheeky grin, for he was in an incredibly cheerful mood. The girl stood next to the other guard, dwarfed by his stocky build, yet somehow managing to look even more intimidating with her crossed arms and well-practiced, haughty expression; he found it strangely endearing, like a kitten that thought itself a lion. “For where are we bound, little mistress?” he quipped.

She glared at him, doing a marvelous job of masking the fact that she had been trembling before him only a short time earlier. “We are going to the training grounds,” she announced.

The guards both looked towards her in confusion. “The training grounds, my lady?” the large one questioned. “Whatever for?”

“My uncle has decided that the barbarian is to fight in the games in little over a week, and it is high time that he gets in shape,” she said. “I will not have him getting fat and lazy while under my care.” The blatant lie was nearly enough to make Loki snicker, but he kept his face carefully blank.

The guard looked skeptically towards Loki, then back to the girl. “I do not think the slave needs any more training, my lady,” he ventured.

“Well,” she replied brightly, “I will take him to the training grounds by myself, then. I am sure that will make Uncle Otho quite happy, will it not?”

Decimus sighed in defeat. “Lead the way, my lady.”

The three men followed along behind her, the girl’s sandals slapping loudly against the cold stone floors. “We must be quick,” she called over her shoulder, “for the storm will arrive soon, and who knows how long we will be trapped inside once it begins?”

They stepped outside into the yard, and Loki stretched, rolling his shoulders. Did the mortal actually plan to let him do anything productive, or did she expect him to just trot harmlessly around the yard? A few soldiers were out sparring, no doubt eager to get in good fighting shape before their commander and their prince arrived.

“Caius,” she called out, and one of the mortals tugged off his helmet and jogged over to where they stood.

“Yes, mistress?”

How surprising, Loki thought, that this soldier seemed much more willing to take orders from the little mortal than his personal honor guard. He looked different than the others, with warm skin and dark eyes, and he also seemed much younger. Perhaps that was the cause, then; he was new to this place and had little experience, so he did not resent heeding the beck and call of a small girl.

“The new slave is to practice for the upcoming gladiatorial games, and I would like for you to assist us. Gather two others, and bring the training swords.” The man nodded and ran to the other side of the yard where his companions were now loitering, beckoning them over.

“Loki,” she said, “I want you to disarm them.”

His brow raised. “No weapons for me?” he asked.

“You do not need them, do you?” she retorted.

“No,” he grinned, cracking his neck. Off to his side, Drusus dropped his hand to his sword hilt, sidling closer to the girl.

Loki walked out into the sand, and Caius approached with the two other soldiers, sizing him up. Literally looking up to him, he noted with some amusement, for none of them quite reached his height. “Shall we?’ he asked, palms extended. Then he dove, swinging his leg out and catching one of the soldiers by the ankle, knocking him into the dust. He probably should try to avoid maiming them, he thought, or else his mortal would be cross, so he held back slightly as he kicked the man in the back, plucking the sword he dropped from the ground, ducking under Caius’s swing.

She had said no weapons, and he had said that he did not require one, so he tossed the sword away. _They are so slow_ , he thought, leaping behind the other soldier, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming him face-first into the dirt. That one may have been a little too forceful, for he heard a loud crack, but it was not _his_ fault that mortals broke so easily. Loki tossed the second sword over by the first, grinning at the girl, who looked slightly ill.

Someone grabbed his hair then, and he saw out of the corner of his eye that Caius was swinging the blunt blade down for what would have been a brutal chop against his neck. He almost felt a speck of admiration for the boy, and he reached behind him with both hands, grabbing the soldier by the shoulder-straps of his armor and rolling forward as he flipped him overhead. Dusting his trousers off, he picked up the final soldier’s sword and stood, pressing the blunt tip down into the man’s neck. He pushed his hair back with his free hand, thrilled to find that his speed had returned so significantly. It was painful to have no access to his seiðr, of course, but the feeling of being trapped in a mortal form was beginning to fade.

“Enough,” the girl cried, and he stepped back, dropping the sword to the ground. Caius rolled to his feet, looking far less resentful than Loki would have expected, especially based on how the other mortals were behaving. His two guards were glowering, and it seemed that he had broken the nose of one of his sparring partners, for there was quite a bit of blood on the sand.

“Thank you, men,” she said, voice slightly faltering. “I have seen enough. Come, Loki.”

He followed after her as she made a rather hasty exit, two guards in tow. Loki realized, after a moment of puzzlement, the reason for her apparent loss of confidence; she saw now how much he had recovered, and she understood what he could have done to her, earlier in the bath. Today just kept getting better and better, he thought, smirk still plastered firmly on his face.


	13. XIII

“Sabina,” Drusus suddenly called, walking quickly to keep up with the girl, “are we truly to trail about the villa with this _creature_ all day long?”

Aelia was a bit distracted, trying to banish the image of her head being cracked against the marble of the bath, just as the soldier’s had been shoved into the sand. She knew he could kill her, had known it ever since she brought him home, and now he was able to put his hands on her again. He had been right, earlier; she did not know if she had any other options for protection, other than having the soldiers kill him. If they _could_ even kill him. And Aelia did not want to have Loki killed, as foolish as it was, for she was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. _Remember what happens to the moth, Aelia,_ she told herself.

“You do not have to trail about the villa, Drusus,” she replied. “In fact, I find it rather vexing, but I want to find something useful for my slave to do, and you are, unfortunately, part of that arrangement.” It was perhaps a bit more scathing than she had intended, for the man’s forehead creased in consternation.

“What _use_ could he possibly be?” he exclaimed.

“Well, it seems that I cannot let him keep fighting, else he decimate the rest of Uncle’s legion.”

Loki snickered, and Decimus cuffed him soundly. “Quiet,” he growled.

“As I was saying,” she continued, “I cannot allow him to train, and I am assuming that my uncle has forbidden him from using any sharp implements. Ah,” she said as they passed by the kitchens, “I have a marvelous idea.”

She stepped into the bustling kitchen, reappearing a moment later hefting a large basket. “Here you are, Loki,” she said, struggling to hold the heavy load, “perhaps you can make yourself useful.” He looked at her skeptically, and she realized that he certainly saw right through her attempt at a flippant attitude. _God of Lies_ , she reminded herself.

Of course, he took just slightly too long to take the basket from her, no doubt enjoying her struggle. It irritated her that he held it as if it weighed nothing. “Just take him to the kitchen garden,” she said with a sigh, “and I will be there to deal with him in a moment.”

The god had been frighteningly cheerful all day, and that left Aelia on edge. She stopped by her room quickly, grabbing a basket of embroidery to bring with her. If she had to keep an eye on him, at least she could attempt to do something productive to keep her mind busy.

When she reached the veranda surrounding the garden, the rain had already begun. The guards hung back well within the interior hallway of the villa, but Loki sat on the steps just under the edge of the roof, staring up at the sky with something akin to longing. Aelia stopped in her tracks, feeling a slight flutter in her chest. _I suppose it makes sense for a god to be beautiful,_ she thought.

That was a disturbing thought, and she quickly chastised herself for it, for she was relatively certain that Loki was going to be the death of her. She walked over and settled herself down beside him on the steps. “I have always loved storms,” she remarked.

He glanced over at her. “How typical,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked, confused.

Loki jerked his chin towards the darkening clouds. “My brother,” he said. “Thor, God of Thunder. Mortals have always happily worshipped him.”

He spoke of it so casually, as if it were every day that she sat down with a god and chatted about the pantheon that was his family. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she watched the clouds with him. “Is he up there, then?” she asked, curious. “In the storm?”

“No. If he was on Midgard, he would have come to find me by now. Something is blocking the Gatekeeper’s sight, it would seem.”

“Gatekeeper?”

Turning his focus back to her, Loki seemed to suddenly realize that he was actually having a conversation about his world with a mortal, and his lips thinned in dissatisfaction. “Did you enjoy my demonstration?” he asked instead, leaning back against the stone column.

“You are quite fearsome,” Aelia replied, dreading where this might be going, “but I already knew that.”

His mouth quirked. “Yes, I suppose you did. Why did you have me do it, then?”

“I was curious to see how well you had recovered. And also, I wished to see how well you could fight without weapons, for there is a strong possibility that you will not be given any. You should be prepared for anything.”

“I see,” he said, apparently content to let the subject drop. He lifted the basket that sat on his other side. “What am I to do with these?”

“They are walnuts,” Aelia replied, “and I am prepared to offer you a bargain.”

“Oh?”

“Shell those, and we can sit out here and watch the storm all afternoon.” Loki looked at her as if he thought she were mad. “I wish to avoid my responsibilities, at least until Otho returns, and I _know_ that you are bored, Loki, as much as it may pain you to admit it. We could both use the diversion.”

Eyes narrowed, he asked, “You would truly prefer to spend your time with me, a being that would happily and easily crush you like an insect, than to attend to your trivial household tasks?”

Aelia regarded him for a moment, a small frown marring her expression. “I suppose that is the case,” she said. “But I trust that you will not ‘crush me like an insect’ for the time being, at least. It would not be in your best interests.” She did feel _somewhat_ certain, for why else would he have held himself back so far, unless he felt that he still needed her?

“It may be unwise to assume that I always act in my best interests, little mortal.” Loki picked a nut out of his basket, cracking the shell off easily, before popping it in his mouth. “I am known for being quite unpredictable.”

She did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing, instead pulling her embroidery out of her own basket, doing her best to ignore the feeling of his calculating eyes on her.

“Did you make that gown?” he asked suddenly, cracking open another walnut. “The one from the dinner party at your _dearest_ friend’s estate?”

“I embellished it,” she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the needle as she pushed it through the fabric. “Focusing on the details allows me to clear my mind, I have found. I detest spinning and weaving, which are some of the only other suitable pastimes allowed to me.” She paused, and feeling strangely bold, she added, “And do not tease me about Drucilla, or else I may decide to give you away to her.” Aelia knew she should not have provoked him like that, but the god seemed more amused than angry. _Unpredictable indeed_ , she thought.

“You would not let her have me,” he laughed.

“No?”

“You find me fascinating, little one,” Loki stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I am dangerous, and thrilling, and you _love_ it.” He grinned at her, and Aelia felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“Do not give yourself too much credit, God of Lies,” she retorted. “I believe that I much prefer it when you are surly and quiet.”

“Is that so? Perhaps _I_ would prefer to go into the service of Mistress Drucilla,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “She did seem as though she would be _quite_ appreciative of my talents.”

Anger flared that he would use that harpy’s name willingly, but never bothered to learn _hers_ , and she jabbed her needle carelessly through the fabric, accidentally pricking her finger. Watching the tiny drop of blood pool, Aelia groaned. It _could_ have been such a pleasant afternoon.

 

* * *

  

Perhaps casual conversation with his mortal _wasn’t_ such a bad idea after all, Loki had decided. She certainly was entertaining, and it was true that he had been terribly bored in her absence. It would not do to share too much about himself, of course; he still was unsure as to why he had bothered to mention Thor to her. And, surprisingly, he truly enjoyed teasing her almost as much as frightening her, even though riling her up did not offer much of a challenge.

In fact, he had managed to agitate her so greatly that she now appeared to have stabbed herself, and he congratulated himself, for using the other woman’s name had been a stroke of genius on his part. However, despite the satisfaction he felt, the despondent manner in which she was currently staring at her bleeding finger niggled at him in a way he did not quite understand.

Impulsively, he offered her his hand. “Here,” he said, “remove your charm, and I shall heal it.”

“Are you mad?” she said, turning to him with an incredulous expression. “You threatened to kill me _this very morning,_ and that was even with the protection of the ward.”

“So you know that if I intended to harm you, I could do so already,” he argued, but she still looked skeptical, so he gazed deeply into her eyes, adding the slightest bit of compulsion to his words as he added, “I am only trying to help, Aelia.”

_That_ made her falter, as he knew it would, and after a bit of hesitation, she reached under her neckline and pulled the little charm off, looking a bit dazed. Loki noted with some amusement that she sat it on the step right next to her, keeping her uninjured hand only a hairsbreadth away, ready to snatch it up again at a moment’s notice. That was impressive of her, he thought, to remain wary of him even when she was half-mesmerized.

She placed her small hand in his palm, and it took only the tiniest bit of seiðr to make the few drops of blood and the pinprick vanish entirely. Then, because he was enjoying her apparent confusion so immensely, he flipped her hand over and brought her knuckles to his lips.


	14. XIV

Her heart pounded as the god’s lips softly brushed against her skin, and Aelia froze, the slight haze around the edges of her mind giving way to sharp clarity. His eyes met hers and she flushed, but Loki held her hand firmly in place, eyes darkening. After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his head, leaning closer. She glanced over his shoulder, but they remained hidden behind the columns, the guards blocked from view.

“So _delicate_ ,” he whispered. “It was very unwise of you to remove your amulet, girl. I hope you understand that.”

Subtly, she tried to stretch the fingers of her free hand to the charm, but it was no longer there. _Of course,_ she thought despairingly. “You cannot do anything to me here,” she replied, voice equally soft.

“Of course I could, but I choose not to. If my ability to work seiðr was fully restored to me, I could simply vanish you away from here, never to be seen again.”

His self-assured smirk would have, in most circumstances, caused her irritation, but Aelia was still feeling a bit dazed. “Seiðr?” she asked.

“Sorcery, mortal. Twisting and binding the threads of fate to my liking.”

She blinked at him. “Were you in my _mind_?” she asked, realization suddenly creeping through her.

Loki looked a bit taken aback. “Only slightly,” he replied. “You really are marvelously easy to persuade.”

“Let me go,” she said, suddenly aware that the anyone could pass by and see her here, holding hands and whispering conspiratorially with the fearsome barbarian slave. It would not end well.

“Ask nicely.”

“What?” she hissed, and he squeezed her fingers more firmly.

“Ask nicely, mortal, and I may consider your request.”

She was beginning to fume a bit now, but she was equally desperate to have him set her free before they both wound up in terrible trouble. “Please?” she ventured, wracking her brain for the least humiliating way to get him to comply. “My lord?”

His pupils dilated at that, and Aelia’s breath caught in her throat, feeling very much like prey, trapped far too close to a dangerous wolf. Perhaps it had been a mistake to humor him, but it had worked, for he allowed her fingers to slip from his grasp, leaning back to regard her thoughtfully.

“Was that not easier?” he said. “More natural? Here,” he added, extending his hand to drop the charm in her lap. “Put this back on, if you wish. It is no longer an insurmountable obstacle.”

“It is a deterrent, at the very least,” she muttered, draping the cord back around her neck.

Loki snorted. “Barely,” he said, “for I am able to endure quite a bit of discomfort to get what I want.”

“What _do_ you want?” Aelia asked. “What is your plan, once your powers are restored?”

The look he gave her was almost pitying, as if she had asked something foolish, childish. “Is it not obvious?” he said. “I will raze this place to the ground, after which I will hunt down those who dared to bind me, one by one.” He turned back to watch the rain.

 

* * *

 

Did that truly surprise her? Loki thought, glancing at her pale expression out of the corner of his eye. He had told her, from the very beginning, that he was an unforgiving god. Of course, the idea of keeping her was becoming more and more appealing, so it was likely that he would spare her when he wiped out the rest of them. The girl did not need to know that, however; she might think that it gave her some sway over him.

Her willing submission, though minuscule, excited him, and he desperately wished that he could carry her away somewhere, eager for more. Though she might resent it now, Loki was certain that the girl would learn to appreciate her place soon enough, especially with proper discipline. She was a clever little thing, after all; he was still a bit impressed that she had noticed that he had been influencing her thoughts.

“What do _you_ desire, mortal?” he asked. “What do you imagine as the best possible outcome for this unique little scenario?”

“I would _hope,_ she said, “that you would simply escape, once you are able to do so safely. There is no reason to harm anyone. Most of the people here have never wronged you in any way.”

“That is a very naive manner of thinking,” Loki replied. “Do you truly have no drive for revenge at all?”

“What use is it?” his mortal said, turning her blue eyes to him. “This is my fate, and I cannot question it, not can I change it. There is nothing else for me.”

That sounded terribly bleak, and Loki frowned at her. “Vengeance is very satisfying,” he stated. 

“But it will not give me a happier life.” She glanced around, suddenly agitated. “Where are the guards? The last thing we need is for Otho to hear that we conspire against him.”

Loki laughed. “Your fearsome bodyguards are hiding from the rain,” he said. “And _are_ we conspiring against him?”

“No, but he would not believe me. In fact, he would probably be delighted to have an excuse to punish us both.”

What had the man done, Loki wondered, to break her spirit so badly? She was so _expressive_ when they were together, but all of her fire and _life_ faded so quickly when any mention was made of her position here. _He_ wanted to be the only one she feared, the only one she answered to, and it was this desire, he told himself, that now drove him to distract her from her somber mood.

“There is a flower,” he began, “that grows in the mountains of Asgard, which only blooms during the rain.” 

“Is that so?” she said, smiling faintly as she resumed her embroidery. Loki knew his mortal wanted desperately to have a peaceful escape from reality, and he decided that she had earned it today, for she had greatly entertained him.

“Yes, and it is very beautiful. Beautiful,” he added, “but ephemeral, for it dies as soon as the rain stops.” Grabbing a handful of walnuts from his neglected basket, he resumed his task.

“What does it look like?” the girl asked, clearly fascinated.

“Each bloom has five shining golden petals, and they are quite small. It is difficult to find them, unless you know where to look.” It could not hurt, he thought, to discuss generalities of his realm, as long as he was careful with what he shared.

“They sound lovely,” she said, and as she gazed out into the garden, he imagined that she was trying to picture one blooming there. “I should like to see one someday.”

“Mortals do not belong in Asgard,” Loki said thoughtlessly, feeling slightly frustrated with himself when her expression fell. Perhaps he should stick to teasing and tormenting her, as offering comfort was not one of his strong suits.

“And gods do not belong on _Midgard_ ,” she replied, sounding a bit petulant.

“Yet here I am,” Loki smiled. “Gods may come and go as they please, little one.”

Sighing, she resumed her stitching, adding another leaf to a trailing vine of ivy. “I would like to hear more about the flowers, please.”

“Because you have been so well-mannered today, I shall oblige you,” he replied, laughing to himself as he saw her struggle to keep her eyes fixed on her work. “Most people in the villages call it the rain-fire, for the petals sometimes seem to be ablaze. They appear in many ballads and poems, usually as a symbol of an ill-fated romance.”

“I cannot imagine you listening to such ballads and poems,” the girl said.

He shrugged, amused by the observation. “They are very popular in the court, and of course the noblewomen all love such things.”

“Of course.”

They fell into a companionable silence for a while, and Loki mused upon his increasing need to possess the little mortal. _Is it not my right,_ he thought, _to take a pet from Midgard?_ His father and mother would certainly not approve; Frigga would be displeased with how he treated her, no doubt, and Odin would be furious that he was dallying with a mortal. Perhaps he simply would not tell them.

 

* * *

 

Aelia had given up trying to understand the whims of the God of Mischief, who seemed to vary with dizzying frequency between wanting to kiss her and wanting to kill her. In any case, she was enjoying this current truce, if one could call it that.

She wondered if he would ever say her name again.

Metal clanking suddenly interrupted her thoughts, and she mentally cursed as the guards finally decided to make an appearance, startled to see that they were accompanied by an unfamiliar third man.

“Sabina,” the stranger began with no preamble, “Master Otho sends word that he set out early in an attempt to avoid the worst of the storm. He shall be arriving tonight. Dinner should be delayed”

“Thank you,” Aelia said weakly, and the messenger bowed and turned on his heel, quickly striding away. Glancing at Loki, she was surprised to see that he looked almost… disappointed.

“Back to my cell, little mistress?” he said with a rueful smile.

Mind racing frantically, Aelia stood up and straightened out her stola. She did not want to lock him up again; there was also a strong possibility that Otho would want to see his newest trophy, and would summon for him even if she tried to keep him hidden and out of the way. Thunder crashed, and she glanced to the sky, noting that the storm was quickly gaining force. If only her uncle had not decided to attempt to outride it! _May the lightning of Thor, brother of Loki, strike him down as he rides_ , she thought, immediately scolding herself for the curse. Had she not just told Loki that she did not seek vengeance on those who had wronged her?

“If you chain him again, Decimus,” she asked, turning towards the older of the guards, “will it be necessary for you both to follow me about all evening?”

He looked thoughtful, likely just as eager as she was to escape the demeaning task of playing nursemaid to a barbarian slave. “That might be an acceptable solution,” he began.

“Dex, have you lost your mind?” Drusus hissed. “That _thing_ is vicious, and it is not to be left unguarded.”

“He has done nothing of interest, so far,” the older man shrugged, giving Aelia a calculating look, “and I grow weary of standing around watching him eat day in and day out. I believe we could come to an arrangement.”

Loki was watching her with great interest, and that made it even more difficult for her to focus. She looked down her nose at him, a difficult task considering the large difference in height. “What is my part in this arrangement, Decimus?”

“The slave remains chained,” he said, nodding towards Loki. “Manacles _and_ fetters, mind you. And I would appreciate a favorable word from you to your uncle regarding our handling of him. Feel free to embellish,” he added. “We shall collect him again once the master arrives.”

“That sounds acceptable,” she said. “Drusus, do you agree?” He looked indecisive, but finally nodded. “I am glad that we can all accommodate each other,” she smiled, glancing at her god, who thankfully seemed rather content with the arrangement. She assumed that the chains were preferable to constantly being followed, and it seemed that he felt the same.

“Where should we take him when he is suitably fettered, my lady?” Drusus asked.

“The kitchen will be fine,” she replied, gathering her embroidery. “I need to go ensure that the cooks are prepared for Uncle’s return, especially in the event of any unexpected guests. And do be quick about it,” she added, turning to head towards the kitchen. That had gone far better than she had expected.

 

* * *

 

It seemed to be a day of bargains, Loki mused, but he did think that he might prefer fetters to his two watchdogs. Having them hovering about, stalking his every move, was truly frustrating. Besides, it was really the enchanted collar and cuffs that were holding him back; compared to those, the chains were nothing.

“On your feet, slave,” Drusus barked. It seemed to be one of his favorite commands; he was quite dull, Loki thought. Actually, both of them were. It was to be expected from mortals. Loki got to his feet slowly, rolling his eyes. His day had been going _so_ nicely so far, and he did not intend to let the guard spoil it now. He followed along silently as they led him back towards his cell, still in a relatively good mood.  

“I did not expect you to agree to the lady’s arrangement, Drusus,” the large guard said.

The shorter man glanced back at Loki, seeming to think that he was out of listening range; he was wrong. “Yes, well, I certainly believe that it is foolhardy,” he said in a secretive voice. “But now Sabina shall owe me a favor.”

“A favor?”

He nodded. “I will have her lips,” he boasted, “and perhaps more.”

Decimus snorted. “You are foolish, boy. Otho would be furious if you touched her.”

“She would never dare tell,” he said smugly, “for I sincerely doubt she wants Otho to find out how familiar she is with the slave.”

“I suppose.”

The god kept his face carefully blank, masking the wrath that suddenly flared to life when the pathetic wretch _dared_ to suggest that he would touch Loki’s pet. _Daggers_ , he thought, immensely frustrated. If only he had his daggers.

Although, really, it would still be unwise to act so soon, as the fact remained that Loki was still relatively weak. If he snapped the man in half like a twig right now, here in this hallway, he would have to attempt an escape for which he was unprepared; it sounded too impulsive, like something his brother would do.

And so he clenched his jaw and resolved to bide his time, allowing the men to chain him and lead him back to his mortal. He would do what he needed to in order to stay close, he decided, and if anything happened, he would be ready.

She looked relieved to see him again, once the guards unceremoniously abandoned him with her in the hallway by the kitchens. “I am sorry that this is necessary,” she said, leading him back towards the hallway that contained her chamber. “But I do not think that you wish to return to your cell so soon, do you?”

“No, I do not,” he replied as he followed behind her, noticing for the first time the slight sway in her hips as she walked. “But the question, mortal, is why you go to such lengths to keep me near, even after I ‘threatened to kill you this very morning,’ as you put it. It seems quite counterintuitive. 

“No more counterintuitive than you, _a god from on high_ , suddenly deciding to comply with the orders of a mortal,” she retorted.

Loki smiled at the bite in her tone. Now this, _this_ was something he truly was beginning to enjoy. The girl _wanted_ him to tease and to punish her, even if she did not realize it yet, for why else would she tempt him so? “Obviously, I do not consider them orders, merely suggestions. I may freely choose to become noncompliant at any time.”

“Compliance merits rewards, however,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

“Are you attempting to strike another bargain with me, little one?”

“I am,” she stated, coming to a sudden halt outside her chamber door, and he chuckled at her forthrightness. The girl was beginning to realize how much he enjoyed playing games, he realized, and was attempting to use it to her advantage. A slave hurried by in the hallway, giving them a strange look.

“Do tell the terms, then,” he prompted, leaning down closer to her height.

A tiny crease appeared on her brow, and he could only assume that she was second-guessing the wisdom of her plan. “Do you plan on trying to kill me again today, Loki?”

“No,” he replied cheerily, “certainly not.” Killing her was actually the last thing on his mind, at the moment. Killing the guard Drusus, on the other hand… But it would not do to dwell on that now, for she seemed fairly attuned to his more deadly temperaments, and right now, he wanted to foster trust, dependence.

She searched his eyes, trying to discern if he was telling the truth, as if she would ever know. He could not tell if she found what she was looking for, and after a moment, she seemed to surrender. “Well,” she sighed, “I suppose I will just have to take you at your word.” _Foolish, foolish little mortal._

“Are you going to invite me inside, my lady?” he asked pointedly.

“I believe that I am,” the girl said thoughtfully. “I fully intend to hide away in my chamber until I am summoned to greet Otho, and I supposed that you might as well join me. I enjoy your stories of Asgard,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “I thought that you may wish to sit and talk with me for a while.”

How fascinating it was, thought Loki, that she so easily overlooked the danger due to her desperation for _something_.  What was it? Entertainment? Companionship? A sense of purpose? The last was most likely, really, especially when he considered how he had noted her desire to aid him that first day, back in the arena. He liked the idea of that; her purpose in life would be to serve him. 

“And what is it that you offer in exchange for my peaceful participation?”

“Is some semblance of freedom and normalcy not enough?” she exclaimed.

“No,” he said, smirking at her. “I want the charm.”

  

* * *

 

Aelia stared at the god, who currently stood far, far too near to her. “What?”

“Your little amulet. I want you to remove it and give it to me, of your own free will. Consider it an act of good faith.”

“Good faith?” she hissed, incredulous, “You are the God of Lies, and yet _I_ am the one who has to make a demonstration of _good faith_?”

“That sounds about right, mortal,” Loki replied, unfazed by her ire. “Think of it as an offering to your god, if that makes it easier for you.”

It certainly did not make it easier for her, but she did want to get out of the hallway as soon as possible, and Loki was likely telling the truth earlier when he had told her that the charm no longer provided much of a deterrent. Why was she being so reckless? Self-preservation had always been one of Aelia’s primary motivators, but she was beginning to grow addicted to the heady rush that came from surviving another exchange with Loki. She felt _alive_ , and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

 _Embrace it,_ she told herself, and she looked into his eyes as she pulled the cord from around her neck and dropped it into his waiting palm, somehow both hating and feeling strangely pleased by his satisfied expression.  

“Good girl,” he whispered, and Aelia flushed with embarrassment, turning quickly to open the door, closing it soundly as he stepped inside behind her.

“Please do not make me regret this, Loki,” she prayed, apprehension rising as soon as they were alone again. He always waited until they were behind a closed door to strike. _Consider it a test, Aelia,_ she told herself. _An experiment. If he decides to be well-mannered, then you have found yourself someone to talk to, and if he does not, you may very well die._ It was high stakes for a conversational partner, even if said conversational partner was an immortal being from another world.

“Your regrets are yours and yours alone,” he replied, walking further into the room without invitation, chains faintly clinking. There was a low cushioned bench situated near a shuttered window, and he sat, leaning his head back against the wall. “Come,” he beckoned, “listen to the rain.”

She took a half-step towards him before she even had a chance to think, then she hesitated. “Do I truly want to, or are you making me believe that I do?”

Loki laughed, apparently taken aback. “You _want_ to, mortal. I have already told you once that I only faintly influenced your mind at all, and that was primarily when we first met. Now, come.”

It wasn’t as if he would have ever told her otherwise, she supposed. If she was going to be reckless, she might as well make the most of it, and she _did_ love closing her eyes listening to the rain. Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, she made her way over to the small bench, where Loki was currently sprawling like a king on his throne.

“You shall have to move over,” she said.

His brow raised, feigning confusion. “Do you not wish to sit upon my lap?”

“I would rather sit on the bench, please,” Aelia replied, fists clenched.

“I believe,” he insisted, leaning forward intently, “that you would prefer my lap.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and in a moment of weakness, she almost considered doing as he said. Why must he make everything so difficult? “Get out of my thoughts, Loki." 

The god leaned back, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. “I am not currently in them."

Aelia groaned in frustration, stalking over to sit on her bed instead. He could not possibly be telling the truth.

“Come back here _now_ , Aelia, or I shall join you.” His tone had taken a slight edge, and it made her shiver.

“Why?” she questioned, eyeing him warily. 

He watched her evenly. “I believe that you know why.”

Well, she _had_ told herself to embrace the madness, had she not? Now she was stuck with him, and she would have to deal with the consequences. Rising woodenly to her feet, she returned to him, surprised and relieved when he moved to one side to allow her to sit. 

 _“‘Compliance merits rewards,’”_ he quoted, smirking at her.

 _Of course,_ she thought. Loki did not like her having the upper hand, even though he had decided to play along, and so he felt the need to reassert himself, as if she could ever forget how dangerous he was. Nothing she could say would possibly prevent him from teasing her further, so she instead chose to lean back against the wall and close her eyes. The heavy rain and rumbling thunder outside really did sound lovely. At least she could enjoy that.

“How long,” Loki asked, breaking the silence, “until your uncle returns?”

Aelia sighed. “I would expect him in three or four hours,” she replied, “as he ordered that we delay dinner. He would not bother if he was arriving any later than that, and if he planned to arrive earlier, there would be no need.”

The god nodded thoughtfully. “Rest, then,” he said. “If you are sleeping when the time draws near, I will wake you.” She opened her eyes to peer at him skeptically. “It is your reward,” Loki added, smiling lightly. “You are safe, for now.”

“I am thoroughly reassured,” she quipped. However, despite the fact that her logic told her that it was supremely unwise to trust him, she allowed her eyes to drift closed again. It had been a long day already, and she was a fitful sleeper, her nightmares of fiery raids more recently overtaken by dreams of haunting green eyes. With the sound of the storm filling her ears and washing away her tension, she was soon fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hear you guys like longer chapters...


	15. XV

Loki glanced down at the sleeping mortal currently leaning against his shoulder, feeling a bit perplexed. He _had_ wanted to lull her into a false sense of security, but he certainly had not expected her to gravitate towards him in her sleep; he was a god, not a pillow. It would almost certainly be best for him to move her away, or to chastise her for her carelessness. Strangely enough, he did not want to do so.

Really, it was all working out for the best, he told himself. This sudden closeness was a bit unexpected, unplanned, but he had already accepted the fact that he wanted her, so he was willing to make allowances. She had heeded him well enough today, and she was clearly disturbingly at-ease with her situation, to be dozing so peacefully next to him. It was a very promising step, and it would make her far easier to manipulate. That was the problem with feelings, he mused. They made one incredibly, _painfully_ vulnerable. He needed her to be vulnerable.

Well, Loki truly only desired that she be vulnerable to _him_ ; she was _his_ mortal, after all. The murderous rage he felt for the ill-intentioned guard would have to be addressed at some point, and he was also beginning to feel much more determined to utterly destroy the girl’s uncle, who she seemed to fear so desperately. Of course, he had been planning to kill them from the very beginning; he could not credit her with that, although he might have to admit that she had played some small part in inspiring him to be much more creative about the methods used.  

The storm grew in intensity, and Loki closed his eyes and allowed the time to slip by. He could certainly use the rest, as well, for he did not intend to stay here for more than a few weeks. At the rate his powers had been restoring, he thought that he may be able to break free of the restraints soon without assistance, barring any unexpected expenditures of seiðr. Listening to the crashing thunder, he cursed Thor, who _should_ have been there to help him weeks ago. Then, none of this waiting and bargaining with mortals would be necessary.

Eventually, it was time for him to wake her, and he hesitated as he considered the best way to do so. His first instinct was to suddenly stand, likely knocking her off of the bench; it would be entertaining, but would almost certainly make her raise her defences, and did not want to have to begin the arduous process of playing-somewhat-nice-to-the-mortal all over again. Instead, he placed a manacled hand on her knee, shaking her lightly. “Girl,” he said, “it is time.”

She started awake, immediately shying away from him as if she had been scalded. “Did you sleep well?” he asked pleasantly, amused by the violence of her reaction when she’d realized who she had been resting against.

Blinking sleepily, she replied, “I did,” her tone surprised.

Loki found that a bit surprising, too, even though she had seemed peaceful enough. “I imagine that the guards will be coming to collect me soon. How will they know where you brought me?” He could not imagine that she had told them at some point; it seemed extremely unlikely that they would have agreed to allow him into her private chambers unsupervised.

“They will not. We will go back to the garden when I am ready, and they may resume their loathsome hovering there.”

“Where is it, then, that you intend to hide me while you are attended by your maids?”

“You may stay here. It is not a large affair, merely a simple dinner at home with my uncle. Lavinia will be the only one, and she would not tell.”

“You trust her?” Loki was skeptical, but he also remembered how the woman had watched him so sternly during their trip to the other villa, as if she was attempting to warn him away.

“I do. She is my only friend, in fact, and she has been with me since Otho brought me here.” The girl stood and stretched, no doubt trying to signal an end to the conversation.

Loki would not allow that; his curiosity about her upbringing had been piqued. “Where are your mother and father?” he asked.

The girl froze, staring at him wide-eyed with her arms still raised above her head. Had she known how much he enjoyed that, she likely would not have put on such a display right in front of him, he thought. Her hands dropped to her sides, and her eyes turned towards the ground. “That is a conversation for another day,” she said quietly.

“Who was Sabinus?” he pressed, and her gaze snapped back to his face in surprise.

“He was my father,” the girl replied. “And he died a traitor.”

That sounded like an incredibly promising thread of conversation, but there was a knock on the door before Loki had the opportunity to give pursuit.

“My lady,” came a woman’s voice, muffled by the door, “the master will be arriving soon. I am here to assist you.”

His mortal looked a bit flustered, and Loki supposed that he should have waited until they had more time before he began interrogating her. “Stay there, please,” she told him ask she walked to the door, opening it just wide enough to admit the servant.

The dark-haired woman did not notice him until she had entered the room, her brown eyes going wide with shock. Loki grinned at her, and he was relatively certain that she almost dropped the pitcher she was carrying.

“Aelia!” she whispered furiously. “My lady, what is _he_ doing here?”

“We were listening to the rain,” she said helplessly, spreading her hands.

For a moment, the servant just stared. Then she sat her pitcher down upon the table, moving to stand in front of his mortal with crossed arms. She was older than the girl, he noted, though still relatively young for her kind, and she was quite a bit taller. Loki could not help but be impressed by her boldness. “I know what kind of man you are,” she said. “I have been watching you since you arrived, barbarian. You are alike to Hades, a harbinger of death and destruction, and you will not be luring away your Persephone while under my watch.”

The reference flew past his head, and he looked to his mortal in confusion. “It is from an old Greek myth,” she said, blushing faintly. 

He would have to investigate that further at a later date; at the moment, he was trying to decide how to handle the feisty lady’s maid. On the one hand, he really should not tolerate any sort of defiance from a Midgardian; on the other, if he could win her over, she would be another valuable ally in this place. There was also the fact that the woman’s unbridled overprotectiveness might help to keep the short guard’s amorous intentions at bay.

“I admire your spirit, maid,” he replied, an easy smile still resting on his face. “But the lady speaks the truth. We were only listening to the storm howl away outside, taking solace in a few moments of peace.”

“This is beyond madness,” the maid said, turning her glare towards his mortal, who now was beginning to look thoroughly chastened. “Where are the guards? You have _seen_ him kill people, my lady!”

“I have seen Otho kill people, as well!” his mortal cried out. “And yet I still live under his roof.” That surprised Loki; he has assumed that her uncle was one of the rich, pompous types who very rarely did his own dirty work.

The maid looked at her incredulously. “The master is at least bound by the rules of social nicety,” she argued, pointing accusingly at him. “That barbarian is not.”

“Do you always allow your servants to speak to you this way?” he cut in, fascinated by this little exchange.

“Please, Lavinia,” his mortal pleaded, ignoring him entirely, “I do not want to let him rot away in his cell. You cannot tell anyone.”

Shoulders slumping, the servant finally seemed to relent. “I will not tell anyone, but it is only because it would come back on your head. I still must vehemently protest. You should not be alone with him." 

“Your objection is noted.”

Loki was beginning to feel a bit petulant about being ignored, but he also did not want to completely terrify them, so he stretched out his legs, fetters rattling. “It’s not that I do not love watching you Midgardians squabble,” he said when they both turned to look at him, “but you have an uncle to greet, do you not?”

That seemed to distract them from their debate, and his mortal requested the servant’s aid in braiding up her hair. Loki contented himself with watching, knowing that his presence had both of the mortal women on-edge. He found her long hair surprisingly enticing; he remembered vividly how he had yanked it that first night, when he had kissed her so roughly, and the image of tangling his fingers in it as he ravished her was occupying his thoughts with increasing frequency.

It was certainly not unheard of for immortals to take lovers on Midgard, though Loki had always thought himself above such things. Indeed, there were quite a few depressing Asgardian ballads on the subject, which he had always considered incredibly trite, typically featuring wanderers from Alfheim; the Light Elves had always seemed to have a certain fondness for stealing mortals away. He was beginning to appreciate the appeal.

And, as a matter of fact, one such song featured the rain-fire blossom that he had described to her that very afternoon, the fleeting, brightly-burning life of the flower a perfect symbol of mortal passion. _“Stígandr went out from the palace of gold…”_ He tried to remember the rest of the verses as he sat and watched, but his recollection was spotty, and he had never paid much attention to it before, though his mother was fond of it. Perhaps it would come back in time.

“I suppose it is time to return to reality,” his mortal said glumly, turning to him once again. “Are you prepared? I must warn you, Otho can be terribly unpredictable.”

That made Loki scoff. “More than myself? Doubtful.”

“Yes, well, he is the master here,” she said. “And I am hoping that we manage another evening without incident.”

Was she in such a constant state of anxiety normally, or was it only due to the added stress of being shackled to an irate, imprisoned god? He could not imagine being so frightened of everything, all of the time. It seemed terribly weak.

He stood, walking to join the two women by the door, smirking as they both tensed. The maid Lavinia, he decided, might actually be impulsive enough to attack him if he made a wrong move, and the mental image was ridiculous. Now he understood why she and her little entourage of servants had reminded him so strongly of his mother’s handmaidens, for the woman certainly did seem to be fiercely loyal.

“What are we waiting for, then?” he asked. “Lead the way, mistress.”

 

* * *

 

Meeting back up with the guards had been much more painless than Aelia had expected. Loki’s continued complacency had her on edge; the longer he acted relatively pleasant, the more she feared the magnitude of his anger when he finally did snap again. She knew how passionately he hated mortals, and she could only image the depth of his frustration and ire as he was forced to take orders from beings he considered to be far lesser than himself.

She had left Loki and his guards in the smaller dining room while she and Lavinia had gone to greet Otho at the door. Her uncle was streaked with mud, and he and the rest of the men in his party rushed inside, eager to get out of the quickly-worsening storm. Aelia had tried to speak with him, but he had brushed her aside, heading to the baths. Used to such blunt dismissals, she went back to the dining room to wait, settling down on her couch. Loki came to sit cross-legged on the floor beside her, manacles clinking.

“You could stand in the back with the others,” she said, surprised that he had been staying so near to her all day. 

“I could,” he affirmed.

He had been acting so strangely, and Aelia could not figure out what sort of game he was playing. The only explanation that sounded reasonable was that he was trying to win her favor, hoping that she would aid his escape, for she knew how little regard he truly had for her.

Otho appeared not long after, laughing with a couple of cavalry officers under his command, along with a man she did not recognize. She kept her eyes downcast as the men went to recline, and then her uncle signaled for servants to begin bringing in their dinner.

“It is so very good to be home again,” Otho remarked, finally turning his attention toward his niece, who was just slightly picking at her food, too anxious to stomach anything. “How have you been handling things in my absence, niece? Do tell me all about your preparations for our honored guest.” His cold eyes slid down to the god sitting next to her. “But first,” he said, “tell me how our new slave has been behaving.”

She saw Loki tense, and though he said nothing, he turned his head to regard her uncle with a stony expression, making her feel trapped in between them, waiting for the lightning to strike.

“He looks insolent,” one of the cavalry officers cut in, before she had a chance to respond.

“He is a fighter by nature,” she said smoothly. “Of course, Uncle, you knew that when you brought him here. It is part of what makes him so valuable, is it not?”

“The crowds do enjoy a fighting spirit,” Otho conceded, “but I will not tolerate insolence in one of my slaves. Has he been out of line?”

“No,” Aelia replied, trying to sound firm. _He has completely destroyed the line,_ she thought, but that was between her and the God of Lies. “The slave has been surprisingly compliant, actually. And Drusus and Decimus have done an excellent job of ensuring that he knows his place,” she added, remembering their bargain.

“I must admit that I am surprised to hear it,” said her uncle, beckoning a slave for another glass of wine. “Stand, slave,” he ordered. Loki rolled to his feet, still studying her uncle with a surprising intensity, as if he was trying to discern what made the man tick.

“He is in surprisingly good condition,” another of the officers said, one she recognized. His name was Lucius, and his wife had an irritating tendency to wear blonde wigs and make strange comments about Aelia’s hair. She was not fond of either of them, but at least he was unaccompanied this time. “Have you not had to beat him?” the man continued.

“No,” she replied, struggling to keep her tone pleasant. “That has been quite unnecessary.”

Lucius snorted. “Surely he deserves it, for what he did to those soldiers alone.”

For a moment, Aelia thought that he referred to her training grounds experiment and Loki’s quick defeat of all three opponents, and she nearly panicked, wondering who had told them. But no, she realized, he spoke of the many Loki had killed before he came to be here. _Did you forget about all of the men he has killed, Aelia?_ her inner voice whispered. _Just because he told you about some pretty flowers?_

“I see no reason to damage my property. Would you take a vase that you had been generously gifted and smash it upon the ground?” Aelia smiled, and the god’s eyes glared at her for just a fraction of a moment, likely irate at being compared to pottery. It was the first comparison that sprang to her mind. Perhaps a statue would have been more accurate; a handsome, cold, eternally-glowering statue.

“A fair point,” Lucius conceded, turning his attention back to the mutton on his plate.

“So, slave,” Otho said. “What are you called? I own many slaves, and many of them are also barbarians, so I must have a more specific way of referring to you.”

_Please, Loki,_ Aelia prayed, _please do not say you are a prince, that you are immortal, that you are a deity from another world with unnatural powers. Please._

“I am Loki, of Asgard.”

She shakily released the breath that she had not even realized that she had been holding, and her uncle gave a surprised bark of laughter. “So he does speak! Tell me, Loki of Asgard, what crime had you committed to become so impressively enchained by the barbarians before the Roman soldiers overtook you?”

Loki’s face remained carefully blank. “It would seem that their king did not appreciate me sitting on his throne.”

“The barbarians who were captured with you called you Silvertongue, warned that the muzzle you wore should not be removed under any circumstances. Why do you suppose they would say such a thing?”

The god lifted a brow. “I cannot imagine,” he said. “Perhaps they found me too persuasive.”

One of the officers she did not recognize laughed. “He _is_ very well-spoken for a savage. And in our language, at that!”

Aelia had wondered about that, though she had never bothered to ask, certain that he would snap at her for being a _foolish mortal._ She assumed that speaking in whatever tongue you chose must be one of the benefits of being a god.

“Certainly a curiosity,” Otho remarked. “One that I am sure Basileus Maximus will find entertaining. On that note, niece, tell me what preparations need still be made.”

Sighing in relief that his interrogation of Loki had ended so quickly, Aelia was quick to provide her uncle with a detailed account. Rooms had been cleaned, food and drink ordered, new clothes made, dinner menus planned, gifts purchased… it had been a very busy, very miserable week.

“I am pleased to hear that you have been keeping yourself so well-occupied,” Otho finally said, and he almost sounded sincere.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she replied demurely.

“Many arrangements still must be made for the lodging and upkeep of the legion that the prince brings along with him, unfortunately. I will be spending many long hours in the town this week, and you will be accompanying me.”

“Of course, Uncle, I am happy to assist in any way I am able,” she said, but her spirit had instantly fallen. He must want to show that this was some great familial undertaking, welcoming the heir to the empire into their humble home. _What a farce._

Fortunately, Otho seemed to be tired from his journey, and he and the guests retired before long, leaving Aelia blessedly free; free, other than her entourage of a maid, two guards, and a sulking God of Lies. She walked back to the cell with him, waltzing inside with no explanations to the guards. They already thought that she was reckless and mad, so what did it matter? At least it gave her a moment to talk to Loki without eavesdroppers.

Loki was glaring at her in the darkness of his cell, the storm outside taking away any possible gleams of moonlight. Aelia cleared her throat awkwardly. “I am sorry that I called you a vase,” she muttered.

Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it had not been that, and she saw his lip twitch as he tried not to smile. “You are a strange little mortal, girl.”

_You are the strange one here, not me,_ she thought. “Thank you for deceiving them and acting complacent,” she added, hoping to soothe him with praise. “I feared that they would question you much more aggressively than they did.”

“You are attempting to flatter me so that I will forgive you for comparing me to an urn. I will not allow it.” He was smirking now; she realized with a start that she actually _enjoyed_ bantering with Loki, at least when it did not seem likely that he was about to murder her.

“A vase,” she corrected. “It was a compliment, really. I only meant that I would never destroy such a… a timeless work of art.”

His surprised laugh was genuine then, not mocking or derisive, and for just one moment, it lifted Aelia’s spirits. Then something in his eyes shuttered, and his face suddenly shifted back to the expression of neutral arrogance that she had come to know so well over the past week. “Did you need to speak with me about something, mortal?” he asked cooly.

So that was it, she thought. He had forgotten that she was a mortal, an ‘ant beneath his boot,’ and she’d had the audacity to make him laugh. Something in her chest tightened, and she did her best to ignore it.

“I will not be able to visit you for several days, at least. You heard Otho, he expects me to be at his beck and call.”

“And?”

His indifference stung, especially considering how pleasant their afternoon had seemed; she had enjoyed it, at least, and she had thought that he had, as well. _God of Lies, Aelia,_ she reminded herself. “And you will be returning to your daily routine from this past week, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”

Loki said nothing, and Aelia began to feel an uncomfortable heat rising to her cheeks. “I thought that you would prefer to know in advance,” she added, wondering why she had even attempted to make an effort.

“Many thanks, _mistress_ ,” he said snidely.

She rapped on the door to call the attention of the guards. “Goodbye, Loki,” she snapped back, irritated by his sudden turn of moods, and then she stormed out as he glowered from the shadows. Adrenaline rushed once she was outside, and she realized that she had been playing a very dangerous game, speaking to him like that; his threats from that very morning seemed so far away already.

When she went to bed that night, she was embarrassed to find that when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she could still hear the god’s voice filtering through her mind, low and compelling; _Come, listen to the rain. Rest, Aelia._ And so she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been taking me longer to update the last few days; this week has been crazy!


	16. XVI

Two days after his entertaining little mortal was taken from him and his monotonous daily routine resumed, Loki awoke from one of the most disturbing dreams he could ever recall having; he had been sitting with her in Frigga’s garden, surrounded by a large plot of blooming wildflowers. They were _holding hands,_ of all things, and she was laughing at something he had said, a flower tucked behind one ear, blue eyes sparkling. Even worse, Loki was smiling back at her, and he had felt _happy_.

Spending all of this time isolated on Midgard must be twisting his mind, he thought, disgusted with himself for having such a bizarre, unnatural dream about a mortal. Taking the girl for a pet was one thing; this was something entirely different, something unacceptable. Although, some treacherous part of him suggested, she really would look lovely surrounded by the flowers of his mother’s garden. He did his best to block the thought out.

On the third day, her maid came to visit him, bearing a large wicker basket. She barely stepped inside the door, staring him down as he lounged on his pallet with an incredibly disdainful expression. “My lady wished for me to bring you this,” she said. “I do not understand why she bothers.” Stepping forward, she dropped the basket unceremoniously at his feet, before retreating quickly. _Insolent, but still afraid._ That was reassuring, at least.

“Can you even read Greek? Can you read _at all?”_ she asked with a frown as Loki pulled a book out of the basket.

“Accounts of the Gods,” he drawled, enjoying the maid’s startled expression.

“How are you able to do that?”

He winked at her, determined to unsettle her haughty, bossy demeanor. “I have many talents. Perhaps you should ask your mistress why they call me Silvertongue.”

The woman’s fists clenched, and he was certain that she would have attempted to strike him, if she thought she had any chance of surviving it. “Stay away from Lady Aelia,” she hissed.

“Your efforts would be better spent trying to convince _her_ to stay away from _me_.” Loki smiled at her thinly, and the woman stormed out in a temper. Good. He did not wish to spend any more time around mortals.

He had read all of the books in the basket by the fourth day, slightly amused by her selection. The text on the pantheon worshipped by the mortals of Greece was entertaining, particularly the account of Hades and Persephone. He could understand why the handmaiden had made the reference, although she certainly did not understand just _how_ relevant the tale was. Hades, in his opinion, was rather weak to allow his woman to roam free for so much of the year; a god should not have to make such allowances.

Most of the other texts were in his mortal's native tongue, and he was amused to find more than one romantic poem in the lot; she was teasing him, he knew, for the disdain he had shown when he had told her about the popularity of such things on Asgard. There was _one_ that he actually quite liked, for it was short and to the point:

_I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask._ _  
_ _I know not, but I feel it happening, and I am in torment._

That was what most Asgardian love poems were missing, he thought- a good smattering of hatred.

She had also included some history books, which were rather dull, but he supposed it was better than nothing. Midgardian squabbles for power were difficult to take seriously, considering the miniscule amount of time that their lives and their kingdoms endured. It all seemed so pointless.

On the fifth day, he woke up in a temper, for he had dreamed about the girl again. This time, she had been standing in the middle of a blazing inferno, surrounded by crackling, snapping trees. She was reaching out to him, and though her mouth was moving, he could not make out her words over the roar of the fire. He did not need to; he knew she called out his name. Loki had wanted to move, he had tried, but he was frozen in place. The light had become blinding, and he had started up suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat.

The storm had endured all week, and his cell grew colder every day; though it wasn’t enough to cause him any harm, it was still unpleasant, and he longed once more to be back in the palace. Loki pulled the cloak she’d provided around his shoulders, reaching to remove the sun brooch that marked him as her property. He belonged to no one.

A faint tingle buzzed through his system when he held the thing, barely discernible; he certainly had not noticed it before, although his powers were much stronger now than they had been on the day she first gave it to him. He had not bothered to look at it since then.

Frowning, he examined it in the faint light. Perhaps he had imagined it, some phantom sensation produced by his under-stimulated mind. It was very finely wrought, and he was a bit surprised that the mortal had entrusted him with it, for she said it held great significance. Snorting, he shoved it under his pallet. It had been her mistake to give it to him in the first place, and he would not feel guilty for discarding it.

The evil-eye charm, on the other hand, Loki viewed as something of a trophy, and he now wore it around his own neck. He wondered if that was why she had made no effort to sneak away and visit him this week; perhaps she was questioning her foolish decision to trust him, to give him even more power over her. That would not do; he would have to attempt to mind his temper when he saw her next, to continue drawing her in until she was completely under his thrall.

The guards took him to bathe earlier than usual that day; although his overall routine had been much the same as before, the times seemed to shift day by day. Loki assumed that she had given orders to keep him out of the way of her uncle and his guests.

The chamber was occupied when they arrived, so Loki and his guards were forced to wait outside in an uncomfortable silence. When the door opened a few moments later, the handmaiden emerged first, her expressive brown eyes narrowing instantly when she spotted him. He was ashamed to find that he felt the faintest pulse of excitement when his mortal appeared next, looking somewhat embarrassed to see him.

She was already clothed, unfortunately, but her hair was still wet and it clung to her forehead and cheeks. Cheeks that were a bit pink at the moment, he noted with pleasure, likely from a mix of the steam of the bath and Loki’s heated stare. He smiled at her, and tried to keep the expression more inviting than feral; feral was how he felt, at that moment, somewhat regretting that he had not pulled her into the water with him when he’d had the chance.

“Hello, mistress,” he said, and from the expression on the handmaiden’s face, perhaps his tone had been a bit more lascivious than he’d intended.

“Loki,” she acknowledged, and she paused for a moment, looking a bit conflicted. “Bring him to the library in two hours,” the girl blurted suddenly, turning to his guards. “Uncle is in town for the day, and you two deserve a break. Chain him if you must.” Then she hurried away, her maid giving him one final glare before she followed.

“We _do_ deserve a break,” muttered Decimus to himself, shoving Loki into the bathing chamber, locking the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later found Loki standing in front of a door he had never seen before, manacled and fettered yet again. He was actually pleased by this, as he took it as a sign that the guards intended to shirk their duties once again; it seemed that the more bland and complacent he acted, the less interest they had in him. For the moment, this did not bother him, for he knew they would grow sloppier and less watchful, which the god could certainly use to his advantage.

The maid came to the door after a moment and ushered him in, clearly unhappy to see that the guards would not be accompanying him. So, this was what passed for a library on Midgard, he thought with disdain. It was no bigger than the study in chambers in the palace, and he was sure that the texts it contained were of far less value. Still, it did have one thing that his study in Asgard did not, at least not yet: his mortal. She was currently sitting on one of several large cushions on the floor, a stack of books on one side and a large basket on the other.

Loki’s lip quirked, his temper from the morning easing slightly at the strangeness of the scene in front of him. It reminded him very much of chaperoned luncheons with the noblewomen at the palace, one of the traditional first steps to an Asgardian courtship; Loki had been such a chaperone, once, for Thor and a young lady from Vanaheim that their parents strongly favored. After Loki had flirted outrageously with the lady in question and enchanted Thor to horribly mispronounce her name, no one had ever bothered to ask him to chaperone again.

“Are we having an indoor picnic, my lady?” he asked, trying not to laugh at the look of confusion that crossed her face. Perhaps the term was unfamiliar.

“I thought that you might enjoy a change of pace,” she said. “And I have been out in this weather with my uncle and his men all week, so I wished to hide away somewhere warm and private.”

The god crossed the small room in only a few steps, settling himself down on one of the cushions nearest his mortal. The handmaiden sat across the room on a couch, pulling some sewing into her lap. She seemed more disposed to frown disapprovingly at him than to actually work on it, however. That was familiar as well; he had been the bane of many the lady’s maid in his day, and he greatly enjoyed rankling her.

“Have you been avoiding me, girl?” Loki said casually, crossing his long legs in front of him.

She sighed. “I did warn you in advance that I would be occupied for some time.”

“Surely you know that your pathetic excuses do not satisfy me.”

“Can it be that you missed me, Loki?” his mortal asked, giving him a strange look.

Of course he had not _missed_ her, and the question irritated him. _Patience,_ he told himself, _once you are free, she will learn her place soon enough._ He chose to glare at her instead of deigning to respond, and after a moment, she seemed to give up.

“Here,” she said, hefting the basket closer to him. “Have as much as you would like.”

The girl turned back to her book, and Loki plucked an apple from the basket, taking a bite as he contented himself with daydreams, imagining his little mortal pet in chains in his study. Not chains like the ones he wore now, of course; they would be far too rough for her. Something delicate would do the trick, and enchanted, obviously. Perhaps nothing but chains, he thought, a wicked smirk crossing his features.

“Loki?” her voice came, breaking into his reverie. He looked at her, and she was holding a book out to him now. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Taking the book from her with a skeptical expression, he quickly scanned the page, reminding himself that he would eventually need to teach her to read runes, if he intended to keep her locked away in his chambers. The text was a mortal account of magics, incredibly primitive, really, but there was a mention of spells used to bind otherworldly beings. Loki looked up at the girl, who was anxiously biting her lip. She should really stop doing that, he thought, incredibly distracted.

“It sounds… very familiar to me,” he said, trying to remain vague in case the handmaiden was listening. “But such drastic measures are unnecessary, where I am from.” The mortals, so out of touch with any sort of innate or elemental seiðr, seemed to rely upon blood magic for many truly lasting spells. Loki thought it rather messy and distasteful.

“I see.” The girl was frowning thoughtfully as she took the book back from him, and Loki wondered if she was truly considering a way to free him from his bonds, or if she was instead searching for means to weaken him more permanently. He knew which he would be doing, if he was in her place. “Do you believe something like this may have been used?”

“It is possible, but I have already told you that the mo-, _men,”_ he corrected himself, for the handmaiden was clearly paying attention now, “the men who captured me had help from elsewhere.”

“Hmm,” she acknowledged. “It is good to know what we might be dealing with, I believe.”

_We?_ Loki thought, caught somewhere between offense and amusement that she would refer to them as if they were a team, as if she were his equal. “How soon until that prince of yours arrives?”

“Soon, within three days, at most. The weather has slowed their progress, I am sure, but they will be making all possible haste to reach here as soon as they can.”

“What will you do, once they have arrived?” he asked, plucking a loaf of bread from the basket.

“I am to be the perfect hostess, of course,” his mortal replied, smiling tightly. “Everyone who's anyone will be flocking to Otho’s home, eager to curry favor with the next emperor.”

“It sounds terribly tedious.” Especially, he thought, since he would likely be paraded around like a prize, a fearsome battle trophy. _More mortals to endure,_ he complained to himself, sighing. At least he would be free of them soon.

“It always is,” the girl said, “I am sure that it is an atmosphere that you are quite familiar with, my prince.” Loki blinked at her in shock, and his mortal’s eyes lit up with the tiniest hint of mischief. “Was it not so in your court?” she asked innocently.

He glanced at the handmaiden, who still wore a displeased expression, but did not look as surprised as he would have expected. “She knows?” he asked.

“I told you already,” she replied, “Lavinia is my oldest friend, and I trust her. She knows that you are a prince among your people.”

_Ah,_ he thought. So, she did not know, not _really._ Loki wondered what the other woman would do if she knew of his powers, his immortality, his plan to burn this entire Midgardian hellhole to the ground.

“Besides,” the mortal continued, “you _look_ like a prince, and you certainly fight much better than a common soldier. Your manner of speech is a giveaway, as well.”

“So you believe that I am a prince, then, maid?” Loki said, turning his attention to the woman who, so far, had not managed to sew a single stitch.

“You are no prince of mine,” she retorted, speaking to her mistress next, “and if anyone hears you saying such things, my lady, we shall all be in terrible trouble.”

“If you would like, you may leave,” the girl replied, and the two seemed to be having some unspoken argument that Loki could not understand, though he had a fair guess that the handmaid's part went something along the lines of _“I am not leaving you alone with the murderous barbarian slave.”_ Her presence was beginning to grate on him even more. Had he not endured enough disrespect already?

Loki cleared his throat. “These games that I am to fight in, when do they begin?”

Small fingers fidgeting with the material of her gown, the girl looked at him worriedly. “The same day that Basileus Maximus arrives,” she said. “It is very soon.”

He shrugged. “It does not concern me,” the god said. “I already told you that I do not consider them a threat. You have seen what I can do.”

“What I saw,” her servant jumped in snidely, “was that you nearly died on the sand, and you would have, if Lady Aelia had not intervened.”

It was increasingly challenging to keep his temper in check, and being insulted by a mortal servant was particularly difficult to bear. When he replied, he made his smile as malevolent as possible. “I do _owe_ Lady Aelia quite a lot, do I not? _However_ shall I repay her?” And then he let an image slip into her mind, just for the briefest second, enjoying the taste of her fear.

The woman’s face paled, and his mortal glanced between them in concern. “Loki?” she ventured, tentatively reaching for his arm.

“Do not touch him!” the maid exclaimed, her eyes still locked with his. “He is a demon, and I am calling the guards.”

She made to stand, but Loki was faster, and he was in front of the door before the servant had taken more than a step. “Why are you becoming so hysterical, woman?” he asked innocently, eyes glittering. “I was merely agreeing with you.”

“You know why,” the maid hissed, and Loki began to think that he might have to actually kill her, for she looked ready to take a swing at him. It was a pity, for he had a certain amount of respect for her ferocity, however foolish it might be. At least he would make it quick.

“Stop this!” his mortal cried, throwing herself in between them. “I order you to stop this, _now._ Can I not have _one day_ of peace?”

Loki, no longer in the mood for playing games, was about to say something rather sharp about her use of the word _order,_ when a sudden banging on the door made all three freeze.

 

* * *

 

Aelia’s heart, already racing frantically, nearly stopped at the sound of fists banging against the door. “Lady Aelia!” Drusus called. “Is everything alright?”

She shoved past the angry-looking god, praying that his sense of self-preservation was strong enough to override his temper. A reassuring smile forced its way to her lips as she pulled open the heavy door. “Drusus, Decimus,” she greeted. “Of course everything is alright. Whatever is the matter?”

The guards were peering into the room suspiciously. “One of the servants heard shouting,” Decimus said. “A woman shouting.”

“Servants and slaves _do_ occasionally have to be disciplined,” Aelia said, turning up her nose a bit. She glanced over her shoulder, where Lavinia looked ready to burst. _Please,_ she thought, _say nothing._ “And I am the mistress of this house; I hardly think that raising my voice is cause for alarm.” Lifting her brow, she did her best attempt at a haughty stare, slightly shaky now due to her nerves.

“Of course, my lady,” Drusus deferred.

“You may return to your business,” she said, hoping that her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “Lavinia, you are dismissed as well.”

“My lady-”

“Go,” Aelia said firmly. “You need to find something for me to wear tonight. Drucilla will be here, and you know how she is. I cannot have her outshining me in my own home.” Her smile felt tight and brittle on her face, but she desperately needed them all to just _leave._ She knew that look in the God of Mischief’s eye; he was contemplating violence.

Lavinia looked distraught as she slowly walked out of the room, and Aelia felt a pang of regret for causing her friend such distress, but she saw no alternative. _Damage control,_ she thought. _Save them, then calm him. Everything will be fine._ She waited for just one moment to ensure that the guards were truly going away, then she practically slammed the door closed.

She turned slowly, back pressed against the wood. Loki had a strange glint in his eye, and his fingers were twitching. He followed her line of sight, holding up his hands and examining them with a slightly mournful expression. “I would not even have to touch any of you,” he whispered.

“Loki?” Aelia ventured, raising her hands placatingly, “I do not think-”

“Be silent,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, almost contemplative, it cut through her. “I grow weary of this charade.” His eyes turned back to hers, and they were cold. “And I told you before that you were not to address me by my name.”

Her legs felt weak as he moved towards her, for the god’s expression was one that she had not seen since that first day; even when he had threatened to drown her earlier that week, there had at least been something playful to his tone. Now, there was nothing.

Aelia averted her eyes as he came to tower over her, some instinctual response warning her that staring him down would be a poor choice. _Do not move,_ her mind screamed, _do not breathe._ She could feel his eyes studying her face.

“You believe that you can save them all,” he said, raising a hand to trail cold fingers down her cheek, bringing them to rest around her throat. “Is that it? _Little sacrificial lamb.”_

Trembling, she stared at his shoulder, trying to take her mind somewhere far away. Loki’s grip tightened fractionally. “None of that,” he barked. “You are going to listen, and listen well. I know that you are not foolish enough to think that you can actually _command_ me, mortal. You _know_ what I am capable of, do you not? _Answer me.”_    

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?”

Her earlier words rang in her ears: _I will not call you master, Loki of Asgard._ “Yes, my lord,” Aelia said; it had appeased him before, so perhaps it would work once again.

“I suppose that will suffice, for now.” Loki sighed, trailing his thumb down the hollow of her throat. “I know that your little ‘avoid notice’ strategy is most efficient for my recovery, but… I am _so tired_ of being constantly surrounded by disrespectful, _pathetic_ Midgardians who do not know their place.”

Aelia blinked, trying to avoid tears. She should have seen this coming, she had even suspected it when he had been so complacent for a few days. _The calm before the storm._ “Oh, not you, girl,” Loki chuckled. “You _do_ know your place, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. I find our time together here entertaining, for the most part,” he mused. “My little ray of sunlight in this wretched place. But I do not know how much more of this I can take.” His thumb was still stroking her throat, but he had not crushed her windpipe yet, and his voice was more familiar now, less frigid. Aelia dared to look up at him. “You wish to say something?” Loki asked, and she nodded. “Speak, then.”

For a moment, she feared that she could not find the words. “I know that it is difficult for you, being… _bound_ like this, lacking your usual power,” she finally said, “but will your endurance not be worth it, in the end? Once you are free?”

The cold expression on the god’s face gave way to a slightly unsettling smile. “You are correct,” he said. “I will make certain that it is worth it.”

Something pricked across her skin at the look in his eyes, and Aelia did her best to ignore the sensation. “I can help you,” she rushed, determined to get the words out before her courage entirely fled, “if you will only wait until Otho and the legions leave for the north. It will be a few weeks, and I know that is not _ideal,_ but…” She took a shaky breath, surprised that he had let her go so far, “But now is the worst possible time to attempt anything. There are hundreds of soldiers stationed here now, and more are on their way.”

“I know,” Loki said, evaluating her as his thumb continued to caress the soft skin of her neck. “Normally, I can be a very patient man, but the circumstances surrounding this entire ordeal make it more difficult to bear. I fear that I may begin to go mad, before this is all over.”

_And you are taking me with you,_ Aelia thought. That was the last thing she needed, a Mad God under her care. “Please,” she implored. “Just a few more weeks.”

He raised his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, sighing heavily. “I shall continue to bide my time,” he said, though he did not sound pleased about it. “You would do well to warn that maid of yours to watch her tongue, assuming she’d like to keep it.”

Aelia swallowed. Normally, this was when he would step back, satisfied that he’d terrified her, but he was not moving away. “Did you tell her something?” she asked, knowing from experience how unsettling the feeling was. “In her mind?”

“Oh, no,” Loki replied, leaning closer to her face. “I _showed_ her something.”

She was almost afraid to ask, but she did. “What did you show her?”

“I am not going to tell you.” His eyes were mischievous again, and though she was still frightened, Aelia could have cried in relief, because at least _this_ was the Loki she had come to know over the past two weeks. “You should ask her yourself.”

Blinking up at him, she wondered what it could have been, to make Lavinia so upset. Did she even want to know? The god’s mouth quirked slightly, as if he could guess what she was thinking, and he pressed his lips to her forehead for just a moment. _Maybe he really is beginning to lose his mind,_ she thought.

“I am still hungry,” he announced, finally releasing her and strolling back to the cushions on the floor, sprawling out. “Come join me.”

She obeyed, assuring herself that everything would be fine, that things were back to normal. Stiffly, she sat down beside him, fidgeting with her hair. Her appetite was gone, though the god’s seemed entirely unaffected. “I assume that you intended to warn me to mind my manners, if we are truly having company over for dinner,” Loki said, and Aelia was thrown by how collected he sounded now, how _courtly._

“The thought had crossed my mind,” she confessed. So, he was going to act princely now, was he? She supposed that was an improvement, at least. “The usual words of caution apply, so there really is no point in repeating them.”

“I see. I shall endeavor to keep a low profile, then, as I am not in the best state to handle further provocation.”

“Thank you,” Aelia breathed, not understanding his sudden turn of moods, but happy to accept it anyway. “It will not be long until you are free, I swear it.”

“I know,” Loki said, winking at her. “And that is when the real fun begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative title for this chapter: "That Time Loki Totally Lost His Cool." But hey, he's been stranded on Midgard for a over a month and a half now, stewing in his own angst and inaccessible powers... he's getting pretty close to the breaking point, and he's not exactly a nice guy to begin with.
> 
> The mortal poem that Loki doesn't *completely* despise is "Odi et Amo," Catullus 85 (it's one I've always liked).


	17. XVII

This did not bode well, Loki thought, silently watching the girl as he continued to empty the basket. She still had not touched it; he had clearly frightened her, and badly. Where was his control? The effective use of seiðr was strongly affected by careful control and precision, and Loki had always prided himself on his ability to focus, at least when he wished it.

He had thought that the increase in his power would provide some relief, but the opposite was true. The stronger he grew, the more his magic twisted inside of him, trapped and burning, aching to burst free. Simple bits of seiðr that he could still manage only teased him further. Sleeping was impossible; it had been over a month now since he had really slept for more than a few moments at a time, and when he did, he was plagued with dreams.

Perhaps that had been the plan all along, he thought. He prided himself on his mind above everything else, so whoever had trapped him here was determined to take that away from him. Loki had given up hope that this was mere spiteful recompense for an old slight; something more sinister and wide-reaching was afoot. It was the only way to explain why no one from Asgard had come for him yet.

 _His little ray of sunlight._ He _must_ be going mad, to say such a witless thing to the mortal, although at the time he had meant it. At least she had seemed too distracted by his intent to kill her maid to notice the admission. _Thank the Norns for small mercies,_ he thought.  

Was this what his brother felt like all the time, ready to barrel into a fight with no thought of the consequences? It was unsettling; he had already decided to wait, and he was determined to keep to his plan, unless a more-promising alternative appeared. Yet, he found himself craving nothing more than to blow the entire place apart, leaving nothing but ash. _Patience, Loki._  

The image of the girl’s head resting peacefully against his shoulder wiggled its way into his mind. He had made a terrible mess of that little bit of hard-won trust, hadn’t he? Although, she was still sitting here in the room with him, and she had dismissed the guards herself, had sought out his company of her own volition in the first place. His logic told him that she was likely just trying to placate him, to keep him from going after the others, but… part of him _knew_ that there was something else.

 _“I am dangerous, and thrilling, and you_ love _it,”_ Loki had told her once before. _You want her captivated, so captivate her,_ his mind whispered. _Make her calm._ What was something innocuous that he could discuss? His eyes fell on the wicker basket, and his earlier observation suddenly came back to him.  

“So, girl,” he began, noting the way she jumped slightly at his voice, “what is courtship like here?”

She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. “By ‘here,’ do you refer to the entirety of Earth, or to Rome?”

“Rome,” Loki clarified, smiling slightly at her confused expression. “I am somewhat familiar with the rituals of the Northmen, for they call on us to offer our blessings. Well,” he corrected, chuckling to himself, “they do not call upon _me,_ of course. I am hardly the god you want to summon to watch over a binding union.”

“I see,” the girl said thoughtfully. “Well, here, it varies quite a bit depending on social standing. With patricians, it is more of a contract between families than anything else, I suppose. The father, or some other male guardian, makes the decision as to who is suitable, and once everything has been arranged to the liking of both families, the girl is passed over to the guardianship of her husband. Rings are often given as tokens of betrothal. Then, it’s just a matter of waiting until the most auspicious date.”

“That is all?” he asked, surprised. “No long-winded, flowery poems? Tokens of undying love?”

“What would be the point?” the mortal replied. She hesitated, and he could hear the curiosity in her voice when she asked, “Do you marry for love on Asgard, then?” 

“Matches are arranged, of course, for anyone with any real power, but when you are going to share a home for eons, it helps if your spouse is fond of you.” Loki held out an apple to her, and after a moment, she took it, biting into it thoughtfully. _Persephone,_ he thought, laughing to himself.

“I shudder at the thought of an eternity spent with any of the men my uncle would choose for me,” Aelia frowned. “It is a perk of mortality, I suppose.”

Loki raised a brow. “Dying to escape the lifelong union of sacred matrimony?” 

Nodding, she took another bite of the apple. “Imagine a life spent with Senator Marcus Juvenus,” she snorted. “That is why I do not envy immortality. You may keep it.”

“I intend to.” For a moment, Loki considered telling her she did not have to concern herself about a future with the old senator, or the prince, or anyone else, for that matter, but he held his tongue. 

“Are you wed, God of Mischief?” the girl asked suddenly.

That made him chuckle. “What do you think, little mortal?” She looked hesitant to reply. “Go ahead,” Loki told her, “speak freely.”

“I do not believe that you are,” she said carefully.

“And why is that?” The girl was fidgeting again, and he could tell that she suspected a trap. It was his own fault, he knew, but now he was curious to know her answer. 

“You appear to… enjoy your freedom.” It was a diplomatic response; Loki was amused. “You look fairly youthful, not much older than me, really. I do not know how such things work with gods, of course, but I assume you are young relative to… well, relative to eternity, I suppose.” 

Smirking, Loki realized that his mind had calmed, just a bit, and the girl seemed to be warming up to him again, as well. If only he did not have to deal with the other mortals… “Go on,” he prodded.

“If you are wed, then I would find it strange that you have not mentioned your wife in the two weeks that we have known each other. Especially,” she added, “when you spoke to me of the romantic poetry that you despise so greatly. And…”

She flushed, stopping abruptly, and Loki had some idea of what she was thinking. “And?” he teased, studying her eyes.

“And you have kissed me,” the girl muttered, breaking his gaze. “Yet I have not been struck down by any jealous goddesses.”

He could not contain his laughter at that. Loki had not been lying when he told her that he found her entertaining; true, her wit had not been the first thing to catch his notice, but he was beginning to accept that he enjoyed it, at least most of the time. She was to be his pet, so why should he not appreciate everything she had to offer, mind included?

“Do you truly believe that a goddess would be jealous of a kiss from a mortal?” Loki asked, leaning back to regard her with a haughty expression.

“We have many tales of such goddesses, actually. Did you not read the books I sent?”

“I did. Your gods do not seem very divine.”

Shrugging, she replied, “I suppose you would be a better judge of such matters than me. Am I correct in my assessment?”

“You are, in fact. It is also true that I am relatively young, for an Asgardian, so it is not a matter of high urgency.” Something small, some tiny hint of emotion showed on her face. “Does this please you?”

“It is good to know what I am dealing with,” his mortal said simply.

It was a lie, and Loki felt the warmth of triumph flare deep inside of him. She still desired him, despite his most recent bout of wrath. That was her fatal flaw, he decided; she was far too forgiving. He was extremely grateful for it.

“May I ask you a question, God of Mischief?” Aelia asked. 

“You may.”

“How is it that you are slipping into minds and healing people, if your powers are so terribly bound? I still do not understand how it all works.”

“It may be hard to understand, for one who has no experience with seiðr,” Loki began, but he was enjoying the way her eyes lit up with curiosity, so he decided to humor her. “Whoever did this,” he said, tapping his collar, “they drained me of my power first. I have innate magic, and it has been slowly restoring itself, but these _things_ hinder and stifle it, keep it trapped and unusable. I have had some success forcing energy past them, but nothing noteworthy. Simple healing and _persuasion,_ for lack of a better term, are not difficult; they require no true sorcery.”

“That is… complicated,” the girl said, a tiny frown creasing her brow; he could almost see her mind racing. “How do you intend to free yourself of them?”

Loki sighed. Was he telling the mortal too much? “I had _hoped_ that I would not have to free myself of them, for I am certain that the Allfather would be able to destroy them with ease. However, I believe that once I have enough power mustered, I can simply blast them off; it is a very inelegant, but hopefully effective, solution.”

“Will that not leave you terribly vulnerable? If I am understanding correctly, it will drain you of any and all magic you possess.”

Once again, Loki’s mind wandered back to his most frequently-recurring question: was she trying to help him, or find his weaknesses? “It would leave me vulnerable,” he admitted, his own honesty surprising him. “Much like the first day you saw me.”

“Hmm. Would removing even one of the restraints make a difference, do you suppose?”

He had not really considered the possibility before. “It may, though I doubt that it would be truly significant.”

“If you can escape _without_ needing to use your powers,” the girl mused, “then none of this would be necessary, correct? You could have your magic restored once you return to your home.”

Loki shook his head. “You are forgetting that I have to be able to _reach_ Asgard in the first place, if no one there opens a gateway for me. That requires seiðr, and it is rather tricky.” _I have to muster enough energy to pull you along with me, as well,_ he thought.

“I see. Being a god seems rather complicated, all things considered.”

“It is,” he smirked, earning him a very faint, tentative smile. _Good._

 

* * *

 

It would not surprise Aelia at all to learn that the past few weeks of her life were all part of some strange fever-dream. Perhaps Loki had actually killed her that first day, and now she was trapped in some parallel afterlife, although she was not sure what sort of sins she might have committed to deserve _this_ as her afterlife.  

That would at least explain the bizarreness of her interactions with the God of Lies, who she knew, without a doubt, had been seconds away from murdering her only friend over some petty insults mere moments before; now, he was chatting away about barbarian courtship rituals as if the entire confrontation had never happened. Even worse, she felt herself relaxing in his presence again, as foolish as she knew it was. _I am weak,_ she thought.  

She did find out something of import; if she could convince Loki to escape without attempting to free his magic first, then it was less likely that he would be able to destroy the villa as he had promised. _And,_ another part of her whispered, _he will still be able to heal himself, if he runs into any trouble afterwards._ Aelia knew that she should not care if he got himself killed trying to find his way back to his realm, but she did.

Before long, it was time to face the world outside once again; that was how she had come to think of things, she noted with a start: time spent alone with Loki and time with everyone else. It disturbed her to realize which she preferred.

“Once again, it is back to the routine,” she said, feeling a bit glum. Loki said nothing, his eyes far away. _What is he imagining?_ she thought. No, it was best not to ask. 

Stepping out into the hallway, she waved down a slave boy and had him fetch the guards. Her god said nothing as they led him away, and Aelia thought that perhaps he was trying to reassure her that he did not intend to cause any more trouble, at least that day.

Lavinia was waiting in her chamber when she arrived, sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. When Aelia entered, the maid jumped up, startled, and ran to embrace her; she was distressed to see that the older woman had been crying. “I am fine,” Aelia said soothingly, “There is nothing to fear.”

“Nothing to fear?” the handmaiden exclaimed, taking a step back. “Are you bewitched?”

 _I hope not,_ Aelia thought, _but it is certainly a possibility._ It was not a comforting thing to say, so instead she replied, “No, I am not bewitched. He is dangerous, undoubtedly, but he and I have an… agreement of sorts. But it is best not to provoke him, for his wrath is not easily contained.”

Eyes narrowing, Lavinia asked, “What _type_ of agreement?”

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “I intend to help him escape once the legions leave, hopefully in exchange for a few weeks of peace.”

“My lady, I love you dearly, but I fear that you do not realize what that demon is capable of doing to you! Have the soldiers dispose of him _now,_ before it is too late.”

Frowning, Aelia studied her friend’s face, taking in her frantic expression. “What did he show you?” she asked softly.

Lavinia looked stricken. “So you know,” she said, “that he can do such unnatural things, yet you allow him to live.”

“Tell me,” Aelia ordered. “I say this not as your friend, but as your mistress.” 

The maid opened her mouth, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. “I cannot,” she gasped, her hand flying to her neck in consternation.

 _Loki’s magic,_ Aelia thought. _Of course._ “Then do not speak of this afternoon again,” she said. “Everything is under control, and I do not wish to hear any more about it.”

Lavinia’s face crumpled. “Yes, mistress,” she murmured in assent, but she looked as though she were already in mourning.

The other serving women appeared not long after, and getting dressed for dinner was an unusually silent affair. Her stola tonight was seafoam green, with waves sewn around the hem. It was simple, and had been one of the first real garments she had ever stitched.

As the hostess tonight, she was responsible for greeting the guests, and she took herself to the vestibule, cringing when Drucilla appeared and caught her in a showy embrace. Octavia was in tow, as well, and the senator was accompanying Zoninus. _How perfect,_ she thought. _Today is truly irredeemable._

Her uncle and his other guests were already in the dining room when they arrived, and Loki moved from his space against the wall to stand beside her when she reclined, face impressingly impassive.

Octavia gasped in delight. “Just look at him!” she exclaimed.

“Have care,” Drucilla said snidely. “Aelia is quite protective over her barbarian.” 

“Now, Drucilla,” Aelia replied sweetly, “I fear that you exaggerate. I simply asked you not to have your way with him during dinner.”

“It seems that I missed a rather exciting dinner party,” Octavia giggled, and Drucilla glared at her. “He does appear rather virile, does he not? I cannot blame you for trying, Drucilla.”

Aelia heard a very faint, strangled sort of choking sound, and realized that Loki was making a valiant attempt at holding his tongue. “Have you any more news of your betrothal, Octavia?” she asked, smiling thinly.

The other girl scoffed. “Of course not. You know how fickle my grandfather is with his alliances. I only hope that he finds some old man in the capital, that I may be free to continue my business unhindered.”

“What of you, Sabina?” Drucilla asked, eyes glittering. “The senator has been spending a great deal of time with Otho, as of late. Any news?”

“None,” she replied. _Thank the gods for that._ “Although I trust whatever arrangement my uncle makes, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated the harpy, but her eyes were fixed on Loki.

She tried to ignore it; what else, really, could she do? The other girl was only trying to needle her. Before long, the men decided to pull them into their conversation, and Aellia was glad for the temporary distraction, even though it required more interaction with the increasingly amorous senator. At least he was seated far enough away that he could not touch her tonight, though she had no doubt that he would have, if given the opportunity.

“Zoninus told me about this one,” the guest from the capital said suddenly, gesturing at Loki. “He is to fight in the arena again, is he not?”

“Yes,” Otho replied. “And with any luck, we will be rid of him then.”

Aelia tore her gaze from the silently-looming god, turning to look at her uncle in shock. “But Uncle,” she exclaimed, “you publicly announced that he was to be mine. He cannot die in the games.”

She knew that she had made a terrible mistake at once, her uncle’s jaw tightening as he smiled at her with flinty eyes. “Of course, _dear_ niece. But you are my ward, which means that every single thing you own, including that barbarian you seem to be so fond of, is ultimately mine.”

Her breath froze in her throat. He _knew._ Drucilla laughed. “Perhaps she feels a kinship with the barbarian, my lord.”

Loki glanced at her, slightly confused, but she was too distracted by the look of fury in her uncle’s eyes. It was a look she knew well; she had broken a rule, she had questioned him, _shamed_ him, and now she would pay for it.

“Be mindful of your words,” he told Drucilla, a slight edge to his tone. “Aelia Sabina detests barbarians. Is that not so, niece?”

“Yes, Uncle,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.

Otho now seemed content to ignore her. Loki stayed standing next to her, face guarded, as the men chatted and grew more and more rowdy as the evening drew long. It almost helped, she thought, to have him nearby; if nothing else, he served as a reminder that she could survive more dangerous situations than dinner with Otho.

The dinner finally ended, and Zoninus and his party made it apparent that they were ready to retire for the night. “Niece,” her uncle said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin, “I wish to speak with you in my study, once you have escorted our guests out.”

“Yes, Uncle,” she said.

Lavinia accompanied her as she led the hated Zoninus and his detestable daughter to the exit, making very little conversation. When she passed back by the dining room, Loki stepped outside and followed her without a word, and the guards had no choice but to join the little processional headed towards the master’s study.

She did not know how to feel about that, but she wanted Lavinia to stay with her, and there was really no point in dismissing Loki with no explanation; it would only anger him further, and he was already on-edge today as it was. “Wait here,” she said as she neared the door. “I will be out in a moment.”

The god was watching her with interest, and her maid looked almost as nervous as she felt. Her guards, unsurprisingly, simply appeared to be bored and somewhat annoyed. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Aelia pulled the heavy wooden door open and stepped into Otho’s study. It was a place of many unpleasant memories.

“Come here, niece,” he snapped, waving her forward toward where he sat at his desk. He stood and rounded the desk, drawing his hand back to slap her soundly across the face. It was painful, and she was fairly certain that his signet ring would leave a bruise, but Aelia did her best not to flinch. Tears would not sway her uncle; they had not done so when she was a child, and they certainly would not work now.

“How can it be,” Otho said, “that after all these years, you _still_ do not understand your place here? I saved you, I _raised_ you out of my own pocket, I accepted the _shame_ of bringing the child of a barbarian _whore_ into my house, and you would dare to question me in front of our guests?”

 _I did nothing wrong,_ she wanted to scream. _I was surprised. I was not being defiant._ But it would make no difference what she said, and she just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. All she could do was stay silent, and hope that he tired of his chastisement sooner rather than later. It was simply the way of things.

 

* * *

 

Loki could faintly hear them through the door, though it seemed the mortals surrounding him were not able to do so. From the look on the maid’s face, it appeared that she likely had some idea of what was being said. _So_ , he thought, _the child of a ‘barbarian.’_ That was interesting, although it explained quite a bit, especially the girl’s appearance, which seemed so out-of-place amongst this kingdom of Midgardians. 

When the girl reappeared a few moments later, hand held to her face, lip slightly bleeding, Loki was instantly flooded with an overwhelming sense of white-hot rage, even stronger than what he had felt when he had been so grossly offended earlier that day. She said nothing, linking arms with her maid and quickly walking away, as if she were ashamed for the others to see her.

“You are dismissed,” she called out softly as she left, not even bothering to turn around.

The guards did not seem surprised by the whole situation, which Loki found a bit shocking. Was he truly so harsh with her, that even the servants seemed unphased? He could feel his powers trembling under the suppression of his restraints, eager to smash free and wipe them all out. The girl was _his._

He followed the soldiers back to his cell with little struggle, his mind far away. This would not do; he had to see her, _now._ Loki wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this way, but he wanted it, _needed_ it, and he always got what he wanted. Fortunately, the men seemed to take their dismissal quite literally, for once they had unfettered him and locked him in his cell, he heard their footsteps fade away. 

True, he should be conserving his seiðr as much as possible, but opening the lock from the inside was really not that draining, not in the grand scheme of things. He was naturally very gifted at skulking and sneaking through the shadows, so he did not have to expend much energy to make his way to her room. Really, it wasn’t as if he was setting his recovery back _that_ much, certainly not on the account of a mortal.

Loki knew that she would be alone; she was a proud little thing, in her own strange way, and she would not want anyone else seeing her weak. Watching the hallway carefully, he knocked on her door. She opened it a moment later, her mouth dropping open in shock. Before she could make a sound, he shoved his way inside, bolting the door shut behind him.

His mortal looked nearly as terrified as she had that first night, and he supposed that it was with good reason. A few candles lit the room; in the dim, flickering light, he could see the red of her cheek and her swollen lower lip, and he was overtaken with a powerful sense of bloodlust. 

Swallowing nervously, the girl started to say something, but Loki crashed into her first, fisting one hand in her hair and sliding the other around her waist, kissing her roughly. She whimpered, no doubt in pain from the bruising pressure against her injured lip. He did not care; he was more concerned with showing her that she was _his._ The hand around her waist began to slip lower, and Loki was momentarily distracted from his overwhelming urge to claim and consume by the faint sensation of small fists beating against his chest.  

He broke away from her lips, but he kept her firmly in his grip. “Stop that,” he growled, giving her hair a light tug, irritated at the interruption.

“What are you _doing?”_ she whispered desperately, tears pooling in her eyes. It almost made him feel uncomfortable. Almost.

“Taking what is mine,” he replied, voice rasping. But she looked frightened and delicate, and he did not want to truly destroy her, not yet, so when he pressed his lips to hers again, he forced himself to be gentle. She trembled when the spark of healing magic hit her, but her fists had relaxed. In fact, she was not putting up much of a struggle at all, although he could taste the salt of a few wayward tears.

Loki paused to catch his breath. “Cease your crying,” he ordered, slightly disturbed by the fact that it bothered him. A mortal crying should not bother him. She had never truly wept in front of him before, even earlier that day, when she had seen how close to the breaking point he was. He did not like it.

“I am afraid.”

Well, she _should_ be afraid, he thought. She should fear him, obey him. Usually, he enjoyed her fear, but right now, something was different. Tonight, Loki was becoming increasingly uncertain as to what, exactly, it was that he wanted. He wanted her, certainly, but his mind was uneasy, and he kept picturing her uncle striking her, the guard bragging of his plan to have her, the old man at the banquet leering at her. It made his blood boil.  The girl squeaked in discomfort, and Loki realized belatedly that he was likely crushing her.

He relaxed his grip, allowing the hand at her waist to roam again, eager to explore the soft curves under the loose clothing she always wore. Pressed against his chest, he could feel her heart pounding, feel her shaking as she tried to hold back her tears, terrified to disobey him. 

Groaning with frustration, he pulled away slightly, realizing that he was further unravelling all of the work he had done to get her to trust him. And, perhaps more upsettingly, he wanted her to react to him _,_ to kiss him back or to bite him again, to do _something_. This glassy-eyed look of defeat was unnerving, and he found that he could not enjoy it as he should. _Sooth her,_ a voice in his mind urged, while another argued _seduce her._  

Taking her hands, he silently led her over to the bed, pulling her into his lap, studying her face carefully. “I was the first man to kiss you,” he stated without preamble, nearly certain but suddenly needing to _know._  

“Yes,” she said softly, a bit of life returning. _Good._ She liked talking, and Loki was a master of talking. He needed to make her understand that he was the man she needed to concern herself with pleasing, the one that she truly _belonged_ to; he would take care of everything else. Smoothing a hand down her hair, he looked into her eyes, somehow resisting the urge to lace his words with seiðr.

“I will be the _only_ one. You are mine, and mine alone. Do you understand, Aelia?”

The girl’s lip trembled, and she burst into tears, burying her face against Loki’s chest. “He is going to have you killed,” she sobbed quietly. “He will make sure of it, simply because he knows that I wish for you to live.”

Loki froze as she clung to his tunic and wept, her response entirely unexpected. So, she truly _was_ beginning to have feelings for him, then. Had she even realized it yet? _Poor, foolish little mortal._ Still, it would certainly make things easier for him. “You are mine,” he repeated firmly. “He cannot kill me, and no one can take you from me, whether you wish it or not.”

“I think that you are likely to destroy me,” she said, desperately searching his face for some sort of answer, “and yet I do not want you to die. Why is that?”

His eyes trailed to her lips. “Perhaps it is because some part of you knows how greatly you would enjoy being destroyed.” 

This time when he kissed her, he resolved from the beginning to be gentle, to calm her fears, to promote her foolish budding _feelings_ for him, but it became slightly difficult to hold himself back when she tentatively responded. _Truly_ difficult, then, when the little mortal’s hand slid up from his chest to boldly tangle in his raven hair. He smirked against her lips; _this_ was what he had craved, he realized with sudden clarity, this responsiveness, to feel her _need_ for him, to know that only he could make her react this way.  

Aelia pulled away after a few moments, flushed and seemingly ashamed. His hand slid to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek, which was still a bit red despite the small amount of healing seiðr. “This happens often?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” Loki ordered, pleased when she immediately obeyed. “I believe that it is time we had a talk about how you came to be here. Tell me about your parents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally this chapter. I wrote the last part of this one a while back, and I've been equally nervous and excited to get to it. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Quote for this update: "Aut inveniam viam aut faciam" - Either I shall find a way, or make one.
> 
> ALSO, Lokester just put up this amazing artwork inspired by The Gladiator! It's lovely <3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018128


	18. XVIII

It was funny, in a cruel, cosmic sense, how quickly one’s life could spin wildly out of control, Aelia mused. Having to face her uncle had ruined what was left of her day easily, of course, but it was a common-enough occurrence that she was able to take it with relative grace. More frightening, by far, was the vehement denial she felt when her uncle had made it clear that Loki was meant to die during the crown prince’s visit.

In all honesty, it should relieve her, sheerly from a logical perspective. She barely knew him, and what she did know was that the god was dangerous, and that she was incredibly drawn to him, despite the fact that he intended to kill them all at the soonest opportune moment. The earlier events of the day had assured her of his intentions, not that she’d ever had any real doubts. If her uncle’s gladiators managed to actually end him, well, she would be free to resume her normal life.

Her normal life, she thought despairingly, which would now seem terribly empty without the fiery-eyed barbarian deity who haunted her dreams and most of her waking thoughts. What else did she have to look forward to, being sold off as a wife to whoever Otho chose? Burying herself deep, deep behind the mask, never to emerge again? It was painful to consider.

She had fled from her uncle’s study in haste, desperate to avoid Loki’s judgment, ashamed for the guards to see her this way, although the entire household knew how Otho really felt about her, no matter how civil he tried to act in public. When she reached her chamber, she had dismissed Lavinia for the night, wanting nothing more than to be alone with her frantic thoughts.

Maybe it would be best, Aelia decided, if she figured out a way to set Loki free, to help him slip past the guards and get far away before anyone noticed. Otho would be furious, and he would likely blame her for it, but the god would be gone before the prince arrived, and it would also save the villa from the razing he had promised; she knew that was what awaited them all if he lived long enough to break free on his own.

She washed her stinging face, examining it in her mirror. He was usually careful not to leave a mark when they had guests staying at the villa; Otho was in a particularly foul mood tonight. Something must have happened in town to put him in such a temper.

It was then that she heard a knock on her door, so faint that she almost did not detect it. Hesitating, she thought of ignoring it, but assured herself that it was likely one of the maids, perhaps coming to ask her about preparations for entertaining the guests the next day.

When she had opened the door to see Loki standing there, terrifyingly intense and angry-looking, Aelia’s heart had nearly stopped. So this was it, then, she thought as he stormed into the room, locking the door behind him. All bargains were off. He was not going to sit around and wait for her uncle to decide his fate; he had decided to break free tonight, and he had come to kill her first.

She had started to say something, to beg for mercy, to curse him for doing this to her, but Loki did not give her a chance to decide which, crashing into her with terrifying ferocity, kissing her, possessing her, overwhelming her.

_Taking what was his,_ he had said.

Aelia was certain that something inside of her broke at that, because she should not feel anything, _could not_ feel anything for this man, who saw her as nothing more than property, just like all of the others.

But then he had stopped his assault, looking frustrated and conflicted, and held her tight in his arms, and she felt something even more frightening bloom inside of her as he swore that she was only his, that no one else could touch her: a perverse, tiny flicker of desire. Desire and despair, and the dam burst as she sobbed into his chest, lost and confused and wondering what she had done to deserve such a twisted fate.

“Tell me about your parents,” Loki said, hand still gently cradling her face, and she found that she could not refuse him.

She tucked her head under his chin, wanting to escape his gaze. “My father was well-loved, from what I have been told,” she began, shivering as his arms wrapped around her tightly, pinning her to his chest. “Sabinus was a great military commander, and he was favored by the emperor, trusted with dangerous, risky missions in the north. I am told that I resemble him,” Aelia sighed.

“Your mother?”

Her eyes squeezed closed, trying to picture a face she could no longer remember. “My father met her on a campaign, a northern woman. A barbarian,” she added, smiling mirthlessly. “I know nothing about her. I do not know how they met, or why the fell in love, but they did. He betrayed his duties and his emperor to be with her, retreating into the snowy wilds of the far north. That is where I was born.”

One of Loki’s hands had begun to gently stroke her back, and Aelia was humiliated to find that it comforted her. _He broke in here and planned to assault you,_ she scolded herself. _He says that he owns you, that he will destroy you, that he will make you his whether you are willing or not. Why are you allowing him to do this?_ But she was beginning to suspect why, and the answer terrified her.

“What happened to them?” Loki asked.

“They tell me that my mother was a witch, that she seduced my father and lured him to his doom. In any case, whatever her motivations, the other Northmen turned on them and murdered them in the night.” Taking a deep breath, she added hollowly, “I remember the fire.”

She could almost hear the frown in his voice as he asked, “Then how did you survive? How did your uncle come to find you?”

“I do not know, for I was very, very young. Someone dragged me out of the fire by my hair, but that is all I remember. It has been in my nightmares for years. They kept me for a while, but a Roman contingent found me soon after. I suppose they had been looking for Sabinus, because they knew who I was; they brought me directly back to Otho, and I have been his ward ever since.”

“You do not even know your mother’s name?”

“No. But her symbol was the sun.”

“The brooch you had me wear,” Loki stated slowly, “that was your mother’s.”

“Yes. I use it as my mark, as it is the only way I have to remember her. Otho does not know that is why I chose it.” If she was going to bare her soul to him, she thought, there was no reason to hold anything back. _Alea iacta est_ , the die is cast; she had passed the point of no return.

The god who held her did not say anything for a few moments, but his hand continued to make circles on the small of her back. “Do you know,” he said finally, “that when I came here tonight, I had no intention of being merciful? You have a strange effect on my temper, pet. I have yet to decide how I feel about it.”

He sounded frustrated, which she knew did not bode well for her. “I thought you had come to kill me as you escaped,” Aelia ventured. “ _Are_ you escaping?”

“No,” he chuckled, tugging her hair lightly to bring her to face him again, eyes glittering. “And I did not come here to kill you, in any case.”

Flushing, she asked, “So, what happens now, God of Mischief?”

 

* * *

 

Loki regarded her closely, feeling the brash fire of his anger strangely quelled, something a bit more calculating taking its place. “Hmm. I was considering ravishing you, little mortal,” he said casually, ignoring the way she tensed in his arms. “But I do believe that I have changed my mind.”

“You have?” she asked. Her voice was nervous, relieved, but her eyes were dark, and Loki sincerely doubted that it was only the result of fear.

“I have,” he affirmed, and then he shoved her, making her slide out of his lap and fall back onto the bed with a squeak of surprise. “But,” he added, shifting to pin her wrists by her head, settling over her, “I do not believe that I will allow you to escape entirely unscathed.”

“What-” she began, but Loki shushed her. For a moment, he simply studied her. She was a bit of a mess, he mused, cheeks flushed and hair messily spread around her, eyes still watery from her crying; she looked like no goddess he had ever seen, and Loki found that he _loved_ it.

She was shifting slightly underneath him, trying subtly to escape, and Loki was suddenly struck with inspiration. _Let us play a game,_ he thought, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “Do not move,” he said, “not even slightly. You will not like what I do if you disobey.”

The girl froze immediately, and he grinned, rewarding her with a light kiss on the lips, skimming along her jaw to the pale, slender neck he found so enticing, perhaps because he could feel her heart racing along so valiantly. She made a startled sound and tensed when his mouth found her pulse, but she remained still. _Mine,_ he thought, trailing rough kisses down the column of her throat. He aimed to mark her.

Rearranging himself, he captured both wrists with one hand above her head, freeing the other to slide down and unpin the shoulders of her gown. Most of the marks, he would have to heal, he knew, but _here…_ this skin would be hidden by her clothing, and Loki could do with it as he wished. He must have found a sensitive spot as he worked his way down past her collarbone, for the mortal suddenly gasped and tried to buck free; the contact was maddening, and the god groaned, biting her just hard enough for it to hurt. She squeaked in pain.

“I warned you to be still,” he whispered against her skin, wondering if testing his own self-control this way was an exercise in futility. Tugging the material of her dress down further, he was momentarily disappointed to see that she wore a band of cloth tightly bound around her chest, hiding her breasts. However, the fabric was blessedly thin, and he perked up immediately when he noticed the proof that he was having a similar effect on her to the one she was having on him.

His fingers trailed down, teasing, and he felt the girl shake slightly in her efforts not to move. Loki looked back to her face; her eyes were squeezed shut, and she appeared to be holding her breath. “You like this, don’t you, little mortal?” he asked suddenly, the realization filling him with a sort of wicked delight. “Open your eyes.” Leaning down, he placed a matching, painfully-hard love-bite on the opposite side of her upper chest, laughing when she made a confused huff. “Oh, Lady Lia,” he taunted, thrilled by the fire and the fear in her expression. “How very naughty of you.”

Loki felt victorious; he had managed to soothe her _and_ seduce her, it seemed, and his earlier rage, while still present, was safely stored away for later. He did not wish to think of the many slow, painful ways that he could kill her uncle at the moment; he wanted to focus entirely on the enticing little mortal in his arms. He returned to her lips, thrumming with satisfaction when his feverish kisses made her softly moan.

Releasing her wrists, Loki rolled to his side, propping himself on one arm, feeling more positive about life than he had in over a month. He would be free soon, he would kill all those who had wronged him, and he would steal his mortal away to Asgard, where he was sure she would prove to be a most _exciting_ little pet. Especially, he thought, given her apparent affinity for punishment. Amused, he let his gaze roam down the girl; she still had not moved, her arms spread above her head, watching him with wide blue eyes.

“You may move,” Loki chuckled, and her hands immediately flew down to pull the shoulders of her gown back up. _So innocent,_ he thought. She acted as flustered as if he had undressed her completely. A word began to form on her lips, but she stopped it, looking conflicted. He knew what she wanted to say. “You may use my name,” he sighed, feeling benevolent as he reached out his free hand to play with a strand of her hair.

“Loki,” she breathed, rolling towards him slightly. “I do not understand.”

Her eyes were dark and her lips were pink and plump from his attentions, her breathing unsteady. How could she not understand? He pulled her flush against him, hand firmly gripping her hip, in case she had _somehow_ missed the evidence of what she was doing to him. The mortal’s breath hitched. “Are you certain,” Loki said, voice rough, “that you do not understand?”

Embarrassed, she buried her face against his chest again, and he found that he was growing rather fond of the sensation. It made him feel powerful, protective. Loki was usually not the type to simply _hold_ a woman, but she was _his_ alone, warm and delicate and incredibly tempting, and he could not bring himself to let her go. “Sleep,” he said, allowing some power to slip into the command.

As he listened to breathing slow as she slipped into slumber, Loki enjoyed a few moments of blissful peacefulness, his mind more clear than it had been in weeks. He hummed softly to himself, the words to the old ballad beginning to come back to him.

_Stígandr went out from the palace of gold,_

_And sailed over starry water,_

_To wander through Midgard’s forests so green,_

_And there he spied Embla’s daughter._

It was the last thought he had before sleep claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory + a little more kissing ;)
> 
> In the next installment, our heroine finally meets the long-awaited Basileus Maximus.


	19. XIX

Aelia awoke in the middle of the night, suddenly chilled. She sat up, peering into the darkness of the room, but only one candle remained burning. “Loki?” she whispered, wondering if it had all been some wild dream.

“I am here,” the god said, stepping out of the shadows near the door. “But I must return to my cell now, before anyone notices my absence.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling awkward. What was one supposed to say to a half-mad god who came intent on ravishment, but teased and soothed instead? Was there an etiquette for such things? _Perhaps there is on Asgard,_ she thought despairingly. Whatever the proper protocol was, she certainly was not familiar with it. “Be careful,” she finally managed. Loki just smirked at her and slipped out the door.

Something akin to panic began to set in after he left, and Aelia sprang from her bed and rushed to her mirror, lighting another candle with shaking hands. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she pulled back the fabric of her stola to reveal a fine smattering of bruises across her upper chest, the two bite-marks particularly distinct. Her neck itself, thankfully, was free of any blemish, which she found suspicious; she knew that he had been just as rough on her throat as he had been everywhere else.

_And you enjoyed it,_ her mind hissed. _You did not want him to stop._ She changed into her bedclothes quickly, retreating under the blankets of her bed. What _did_ she want? Had she ever allowed herself to truly _want_ anything before? Certainly, she had never had any aspirations for romance, or even passion. The most she had ever wanted was to avoid as much pain and humiliation as possible. But now…

_Now, what?_ Aelia chastened herself. Nothing had changed. Nothing, except Loki wanted her, _actually_ wanted her, it seemed; she had previously assured herself that he was simply trying to torment her. After tonight, she could no longer pretend that there was nothing there. Whatever fire Loki had sparked within her weeks ago now burned deep within her marrow-bones, desperate for relief.

Even if he was somehow tricking her, for he _was_ the God of Lies, what she had begun to feel was undoubtedly real. But Loki would be gone soon, with any luck at all, back to his world of gods and ancient magics, and Aelia would be left here with a cruel uncle and bleak prospects. A cruel uncle who, if he somehow caught wind of the god’s late-night visit, would surely kill them both. She could not afford to take any more risks; things were complicated enough as it was.

Her fingers traced along the sensitive skin by her collarbone, and Aelia shivered. What would happen if she gave in? _“Some part of you knows how greatly you would enjoy being destroyed,_ ” he had said. She feared that he had been telling the truth, for once. The most reasonable thing to do was to attempt to forget how he had made her feel, to forget that the entire thing even happened. Pulling the covers over her head, she soon fell back asleep.

 

* * *

 

She stayed far from Loki in the following days, terrified that she would arouse suspicion if she came near him. Otho was watching her more carefully now, and she had come to the realization that at least some of the servants were reporting her movements to him. It was unsurprising, really; he was the master of the house, and very few were loyal to her here.

When she sent a servant to him with something to eat the morning after his visit, she dared to tuck a note into the basket, hidden away inside the book of Greek mythology that he had found so uninspiring. _He is watching me,_ it said; short and to the point. Aelia hoped that it would keep him from becoming too angry with her for her absence. Some part of her wished that she could send Lavinia, for the handmaiden was the only one she could trust to accurately report back about his current state, but she feared sending the maid back into Loki’s path.

Three days later, Aelia awoke just before dawn from a rather vivid dream; in it, Loki had caught her by the ankle and dragged her into the bathing pool, but he had not tried to drown her. No, she thought, blushing, dream-Loki had _certainly_ not tried to drown her.

Lavinia suddenly burst into the room, ribbons and clothes piled in her arms. “Today is the day, my lady,” she said, closing the door behind her with her foot as she moved to place her burden on the nearest table. “The crown prince will be coming directly to the arena today, and your uncle wants you to be readied with all possible haste.”

Aelia groaned. “He arrives today?”

“Yes!” the maid exclaimed. “And it sounds like he will be reaching the town earlier than expected, so you are going to have to entertain him until the games begin.”

Climbing out of bed, Aelia stretched. “Let us seize the day,” she said glumly. “I suppose we have no other choice.”

“Right you are, my lady,” Lavinia said, and Aelia could tell that the other woman was trying to reassure her. It was not as if she had never played host to dangerous, important politicians before. She could handle it.

They rushed to the bathing chamber, for Aelia’s hair needed to be washed and carefully adorned, and that was when she made a grievous mistake; so used to having her handmaiden accompanying her in the baths, she forgot in her haste that she had been avoiding revealing her skin for the past few days. She realized her error as soon as she pulled off her tunic, her maid’s eyes going wide with shock.

“Aelia,” Lavinia said, sounding slightly strangled. “What are those?”

Cursing, she glanced down. Everything had faded except for the twin love bites just under her clavicle, which still showed in stark contrast to the pale skin of her chest. “They are nothing,” she stubbornly replied, stripping off the rest of her clothing and climbing into the bath as quickly as possible.

“Nothing?” the maid cried, dropping to her knees beside the pool. “I will _kill_ him. How did this happen? When-”

“Stop,” Aelia interrupted, raising her hands. “Stop this.”

“Was it someone else, then?” she asked, searching her face. Aelia fought the urge to look away, ashamed. “It was not someone else,” Lavinia breathed. “It was the barbarian. I _will kill him.”_

“Lavinia!” Aelia said, grabbing the woman by the wrist before she could run off to find any soldiers, “Listen to me. He did not do…” she paused, struggling for words. “Loki did not do anything that… displeased me.” The maid was staring at her with a stricken expression, and Aelia finally broke away from her gaze, watching the rippling surface of the water. “He did not injure me.”

“Gods above,” the handmaiden swore, looking to the heavens for guidance.

_They will not help,_ Aelia thought. “You cannot tell anyone.”

“You are leaving me little choice, my lady. What am I to think? What am I to do?”

Aelia released her wrist, sinking down further into the water. “You are to wash my hair,” she said, forcing her tone to be light, “and to make me beautiful for what is certain to be a very terrible, very significant day.”

“How can you be so flippant about this? That slave is either going to kill you, or get you killed! What happens if the master finds out?”

“He will not find out. How would he?”

“I do not know,” Lavinia said desperately, “But he always does, does he not?”

“This time, he will not.”

The handmaiden groaned. “I will not tell a soul, my lady,” she said. “But for your sake, I pray that when enters that arena today, it will be the end of him.”

_No, it cannot be,_ Aelia thought, blinking back a tear. But she knew that nothing she could say would ever change her friend’s mind, so she squeezed her eyes closed and sank under the water.

 

* * *

 

Loki had been buzzing with nervous excitement for the past three days, alternating between pleasant memories of having the girl beneath him and frustration that he could not touch her now. Her message had been straightforward enough; her uncle was keeping her under close scrutiny, and Loki was not willing to give the man another excuse to beat her. He was doing his utmost to remain patient, and it was easier, somehow, now that he had a clearer focus for his rage.

He’d had no more strange, sentimental dreams of sitting with the girl in the palace gardens, nor nightmares of fiery infernos; instead, when he did manage to sleep, he had rather vivid dreams of doing wicked things to her once they were safely home in Asgard. Home: he never thought that he could miss it so dearly. It had been over a month and a half since he’d first been attacked on Midgard; they had to be searching for him. Why had no one found him yet?

In all honesty, he was also looking forward to the opportunity to fight in the arena again; if he could not take out his anger on the mortals around him yet, then at least battling as a gladiator would give him some sort of release. Loki was in terrible need of release.

It seemed that the entire villa was expected to head to the arena at the same time, and Loki was no exception. The guards barged in before the sun rose, and he squinted at the bright lamplight in his face. Predictably, Drusus ordered him to his feet, and Loki’s white teeth gleamed in the dim light as he smiled up at the man. “Will you be joining me in the arena today, soldier-boy?” he asked, slipping his fingers under his pallet to fish out his mortal’s brooch. It seemed like a good way to send a message.

“Of course not,” the man scoffed, but he took a half-step back when Loki stood suddenly, towering over him. “It is a sport to be observed by the upper classes, not participated in.”

“I hardly think that you represent the upper classes,” Loki replied.

“Save your fight for the games,” Decimus barked, putting a steadying hand on the younger guard’s shoulder, before turning and leaving the cell, Drusus turning to follow behind him.

Loki should not have said anything, but emboldened by his anticipation of the battle and his certainty that the girl would soon be his, he whispered maliciously, “Perhaps if _you’d_ had more fight, the little mistress would have noticed you, too.”

The guard spun around, hand flying towards the hilt of his sword, but the god roughly brushed past him into the hallway. “Do not damage the merchandise,” Loki smiled, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Decimus stepped in between them. “I said to save it,” he grated. “We are already running behind, and the master is not in a pleasant temperament this morning. If Otho wants the slave roughed up, you can do it after we have delivered him.” Drusus gritted his teeth and nodded, and they led him away to get him changed and readied for the day.

Yes, Loki was in a rather positive mood as they made their way to the front of the villa that morning, itching for the chance to make mischief. Rather than the litters he had seen the mortals use previously, today everyone was being loaded into ox-drawn carts, ranging from a rather nice-looking covered wagon for the master and his guests to the hay-filled monstrosity that he was currently being shoved towards, filled with soldiers and slaves.

He spied Aelia standing with her testy handmaiden in the back of the covered cart, feeling an odd pulse of heat when their eyes met. She was dressed in a pale flame-yellow gown, a veil around her shoulder, and red ribbons were braided through her hair, lips rouged. It made for a very captivating picture, and Loki, for one of the first times in his long life, found that he was the one transfixed.

The girl blushed under his scrutiny, and her maid followed her gaze, face darkening like a stormcloud when she realized the object of her mistress’s attention. She leaned and whispered something furiously in her ear, and Aelia turned away. _Damn the handmaiden,_ he thought, although it was probably for the best. Someone else was bound to notice.

Someone had. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” came a softly-accented voice from one of the soldiers to his left, and Loki turned with surprise to find the smiling face of the young mortal he had bested on the training grounds. The man’s dark eyes twinkled as he added, “A hidden fire.”

Jealousy sparked in Loki’s heart, although he would never admit to himself that he felt such a thing for the girl, and he glared down at the soldier. Their cart was standing-room only, and he had ended up in the front corner, surrounded mostly by more menial slaves, somehow managing to leave his watchdogs behind. He imagined that Drusus had gone off somewhere to ask permission to ‘rough him up.’

“What do you know of it?” he said gruffly.

“Peace, Loki of Asgard,” the soldier laughed. “The mistress has always been very kind to me. I try to keep an eye out for those who take notice of her. It is the least I can do.”

Loki looked at him skeptically. “You know my name?”

“Everyone knows your name, barbarian, even if they do not speak it. You have become something of a legend since you appeared. I suppose that you would not know such things, being kept so confined in the villa.”

“Is that so? What are you called, boy?”

“I am called Caius,” he replied, “and ‘boy’ is an interesting choice of words, for you do not look many years older than myself.”

He actually smiled a bit at that, finding this mortal man to be much less unpleasant than the others. Perhaps it was simply because he was in a relatively-cheerful mood already. “You did not seem to mind that I bested you on the training grounds,” Loki observed.

Shrugging, he said, “You are a better fighter. Much better, in fact.” The easiness of the admission surprised Loki, for it did not seem to bother the soldier at all. “And I am quite good,” Caius added.

Loki supposed that he _was_ quite good, for a mortal, at least. The boy was quick, and certainly bold. “Will I be given a sword, at some point?” he asked, gesturing to the currently-empty sheath strapped to his back. “Or will I be expected to bash men to death with an empty scabbard?”

“I do not know, but I feel that they will likely give you one. It will make for a better show, and the master dearly wishes to put on a good show. There are quite a few who would like to see you win, actually.”

“Hmm.” Now _that_ was interesting. If the mortals wanted a show, Loki would give them one.

“Personally, if I were in your situation, I would be wishing for more armor.”

It was true that Loki would have preferred more coverage, but he was not unduly concerned, as ridiculous as he felt. All they had given him to wear was a canvas loincloth and a thick leather belt with several wide pieces hanging down from it; he never would have expected to miss the horrendous slave-clothes that the girl had found for him, but at least they were better than this. He had pinned the sun to the leather of his sword-belt, feeling strangely compelled to keep something of her close by.

“They seek to put me on the defensive,” he said. “To make it so that I am afraid to charge forward, to make me retreat. It will not work.”

“I would not expect it to,” Caius replied. “I pray that you are victorious today, Loki of Asgard.”

Loki grinned, looking back at the wagon in front of him, never doubting for a moment that he would be.

 

* * *

 

Lavinia had been right, when she had whispered in her ear to turn away from Loki, but it was extremely difficult for Aelia to ignore the feel of the god’s heated stare upon her back. The morning was already hectic enough, and she needed to remain focused; she could not allow herself to fixate on his wonderfully-visible, sculpted form, or his confident smirk. She needed to maintain her carefully-crafted guise of the perfect patrician lady, now more than ever.

Otho finally made his way onto the wagon, and the little caravan headed into town. Aelia chatted with their guests and smiled pleasantly, professing her excitement for the day, relieved to see that her uncle looked relatively satisfied with her performance. _Loki is strong,_ she reassured herself. _He is not of this world. He will be fine._

“You look lovely today niece,” Otho said suddenly, his smile grand. Aelia supposed that he was getting into character. “Does she not, Lucius?”

Her uncle’s guest was quick to agree. “The perfect Roman beauty, my lord.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Lavinia is truly a wonder at making me presentable.”

“I am sure that Prince Basileus Maximus will find you perfectly charming.” It was a command, not a compliment.

“I look forward to welcoming him to our town,” Aelia deferred, lowering her gaze. Her pulse was racing, but something of an idea began to spring to life in her mind; her uncle insisted that she charm the emperor’s heir, and so she would, to the best of her ability. If she could make the prince favor her, then perhaps she could secure Loki’s safety. She had certainly been able sway Marcus Juvenus to be forgiving towards his gladiators on more than one occasion. Otho would not dare to question the word of the prince.

The wagons separated when they neared the arena, and Aelia risked one final glance at the God of Mischief as his party continued on to the entrance to the cells beneath the arena, where the fighters would be kept until the games began. His eyes sparkled as he tapped a finger to his chest, and she noticed then that her symbol was gleaming against his breast.

It was a shock, and she was choked with a sudden swell of an emotion she could not entirely describe. Looking away, afraid to draw attention, she raised her own fingers to the cloth that covered her love-bites, blushing with embarrassment at her own boldness. Would he even understand? She felt foolish, and she dropped her hand immediately, turning back to pay attention to the guests’ chatter, entirely missing the evident hunger that appeared on Loki’s face at her timid gesture.

 

* * *

 

Their viewing box had been decked out with ribbons and wreaths, and servants were on hand with warm blankets for the guests to place in their laps to stave off the chill; though the storm had finally ended and the sun now shone bright, winter was coming, and the morning air was crisp. The usual set of local patricians were all in attendance, along with quite a few from nearby territories. Aelia felt as if she was surrounded by wolves, and it was not the thrilling, anticipatory sort of fear that she had grown used to feeling with Loki.

A herald appeared suddenly, calling for attention, and with far less fanfare than she would have expected, Prince Basileus Maximus made his entrance, accompanied by a rather large party.

“Otho,” the prince cried, “how thankful I am to have arrived at last, and to such celebration! You are already proving to be a most generous host. And this,” he said, turning to clasp her hands, “must be the renowned Aelia Sabina.” She smiled as he leaned forward, kissing her cheek, but her mind was frozen in fear.

“We are so thrilled that you are here,” Aelia said, trying to sound enthused. “I hope that the weather did not cause you too much trouble along your journey.”

“Not even the emperor himself can control the weather,” the prince said, taking the seat between her and her uncle. Following his signal, nearly everyone else took their seats, servants and slaves hovering in the background. It was far too crowded for Aelia’s liking, and the stadium was beginning to fill, as well.

She watched carefully as Basileus exchanged pleasantries with her uncle and the other important men in attendance. Though she had known that he was young, it was still a bit of a surprise to see that the man everyone was so eager to please was not much older than herself. He was a handsome man, with a strong jaw and curly, close-cropped dark hair, but there was something in his slate-grey eyes that unsettled her.

“Would you care for something to drink, Your Highness?” she asked sweetly, waving over a servant with a tray. He thanked her and took a goblet, turning his attention to her once again. _Good,_ she thought. _Now stay with the plan. Be charming, earn his favor._

“You know, my lady, you are every bit as lovely as I was led to believe,” he said, openly examining her features. “Perhaps more, in fact. I confess that I did not expect to find such a pretty thing so far from the capital.”

“I am certain that you are being too kind, Your Highness,” she said, pressing a hand to her cheek in a show of modest shyness.

“No, I do not offer false compliments. You remind me of the tales of wood nymphs, catching the attention of men and gods as they frolic through the forest, long wild hair trailing behind them.”

Well, Aelia thought, a bit taken aback, he was certainly more brazen than she had expected; it must be a result of confidence gained by being the most eligible bachelor in the entire empire, she decided. Though it made her uneasy, it was also something of a relief, for he seemed very open to her flirtations.  

“Thank you,” she said, smiling gently at him. “Such high praise greatly warms my heart.” It did not, really, and the words that Loki had once spoken to her in the garden came back to her suddenly: _“What better way to win the loyalty of a hot-headed young prince than to offer him a beautiful maiden?”_ He had called her beautiful, back then, and she had not even realized.

Marcus Juvenus broke off from a rather heated-looking conversation with one of the provincial visitors, and came to take a seat by her uncle’s other side. Aelia braced herself as he leaned forward in his seat. “My prince!” he exclaimed. “Is it not exciting to see each other somewhere other than the dreary meeting halls of the capital?”

“It is indeed, Senator Marcus,” the prince replied smoothly, his cool gaze sliding away from her. “I am quite excited to see what the day has to offer. I have heard that there is something of a spectacle planned, and that Otho has acquired a rather marvelous barbarian villain for his games.”

“Oh, yes,” Aelia jumped in, smiling as she placed a light hand on the prince’s arm. “He is a wondrous fighter, Your Highness. My uncle was kind enough to gift him to me as a house slave, and I have been the envy of the town.” She felt Otho’s eyes cut to her then, but she blithely continued on. “He was certainly a crowd favorite when he made his debut, and I have no doubts that you will be quite impressed.”

“I have made a wager on him,” Drucilla spoke up from the row behind, and for once, Aelia was somewhat thankful to hear her voice, for the attention of all three men was a bit much to bear alone.

“Is that so?” called Zoninus. “What wager, daughter, and how much of my money does it involve?”

“A friendly wager, of course. I wagered that his chest will be bared, and Octavia says that it will not.” The other girl giggled when her name was mentioned, and Aelia stared at them both in slight consternation.

“I would not mind losing the wager,” Octavia added. “In fact, it might even be worth the loss of my bracelet.”

Most of the surrounding guests laughed at their banter, for both girls had always been boldly open about their admiration of fighting men, but Aelia felt irritation mount. Drucilla still seemed intent on sinking her claws into Loki, and she wondered, in a brief moment of doubt, what he would have done had he ended up in Zoninus’s care, rather than her uncle’s. Was it just chance that she was the mortal girl who’d fallen into his path, eager to offer assistance and become captivated by him?

“Ah, the wagers of women are truly dire,” the prince laughed. Aelia kept a polite smile plastered on her face, fearing that it might crack at any moment. _You can do this,_ she told herself. _You can do this._

 

* * *

 

It was a grueling two hours before the games officially began, but Aelia gamely held her own in the conversation, smiling and laughing and complimenting in all of the right places. She did not know how she would ever be able to maintain such an attitude for the entirety of Basileus’s stay, but she had determination and desperation on her side.

Finally, the heralds made their announcements for the crowds to quiet, and all of the fighting men were led onto the blinding-white sand of the arena. Aelia’s breath caught in her throat as Loki found her immediately, as if he could sense her very presence. _He probably can,_ she thought.

“The smaller matches will be first,” her uncle informed the prince, leaning across her. “Then we shall work our way up to a grand finale!”

She shuddered to think of what Otho considered a _grand finale,_ although she was certain that he would try to keep most of the gladiators alive through this day of combat, out of frugality alone.

The prince must have noticed her grimace, for he turned to her with a look that she might have mistaken for concern, were it not for the coldness of his eyes. “You are not a fan of the gladiatorial sport, my lady?

“I admire the spirit and the fighting prowess,” Aelia replied carefully, “but I could do without all the blood and gore.”

“Ah, I see, a sensitive maiden.” He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “You have my permission to hide behind me if things become too dire.”

She coyly returned his smile, trying to think of something pretty and clever to say, when the command suddenly sliced through her thoughts, low but demanding: _Look at me._

Stifling a gasp, she spun to look at the god on the sand, who was still staring at her intently. Was he truly in her mind again, or was she hearing the echoes from the memory of their first meeting?

Loki said nothing else, and in fact, he gave no indication at all that he was responsible for the voice in her head, but she did not turn her attention away again until the gladiators were led from the arena to make way for the first fight of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter! <3 My internet is a little wonky currently, but I'll try to update again soon!


	20. XX

They had decided to give Loki a sword, after all, though he was provided with no shield or additional armor. He was not unduly concerned; now that his speed and agility were somewhat restored, he felt certain that he did not need them. In fact, he had decided that he would try to keep his seiðr completely contained, as well; he certainly did not wish to waste it healing flesh wounds.

The soldier Caius stayed with the group guarding the fighting men, although his two personal guards had disappeared somewhere. Loki took it as an opportunity to pry for information.

“You say that you keep watch for those who take notice of the mistress,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and disinterested.

The boy laughed. “Yes, I do. And I am certain that you are dying to know who _I_ have noticed, yes?”

Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Yes.”

“Well, _you,_ obviously, barbarian. But I feel as though I can trust you.” He tapped his head. “Call it a premonition.”

“And if you are wrong?”

“Then I shall endeavor to kill you, I suppose, and hope for the best.”

Loki stared at the soldier, in disbelief, once again, of his open-handed honesty. “What of the others?”

“There is that old senator, Juvenus. I am certain that you have seen him? There is very little that I could do about him, I fear. He is high-ranking, and likely to be her betrothed. A cloth merchant shows inappropriate interest, and I always stand watch when he brings his wares to the villa. And then there is that guard of yours, Drusus.” Caius wrinkled his nose in distaste. “He has a big mouth, but he is a coward.”

“Hmm.”

“The ones in power are the most dangerous, Loki of Asgard.”

“Like this visiting crown prince of yours?”

Caius frowned slightly, and the expression looked almost foreign on his face. “I know little of him. He is said to be handsome and charming, but ruthless.”

“How so?”

“Those who speak out against him in the assemblies have a tendency to turn up dead, even patricians who were close to his father. Of course, no one would ever dare accuse him.”

Ah, court intrigue. It was a subject that Loki knew well. “Has he any siblings? Rivals for the throne?”

“His siblings are all fiercely loyal to him in public, from what I have heard, although whether it is due to love or fear, I do not know. The emperor’s other male children are still in boyhood. There are two girls near to him in age, and he keeps them close.”

 _Interesting._ This Basileus sounded like a man who liked to know that he was in total control of his surroundings. Loki could relate to that, at least, on some level; it was the constant thirst for power. He would have to determine how to exploit it, for a man’s greatest desire was also his greatest weakness.

When the combatants made their way onto the sand for the first time to be announced, the god’s eyes immediately lit on his mortal. He tuned out the voice of the announcer, studying her as she tried to ignore him, chatting with the nobles seated around her. There were many he did not recognize.

The man beside her leaned in close, and the god knew at once that this was the long-awaited Prince Basileus. A dark tendril of anger twisted through his chest as his mortal smiled at something the man said, but then she suddenly turned to look straight at Loki.

 _Good,_ he thought. Loki was the only one who deserved her attention, and certainly the only one who should receive her smiles. Aelia’s expression was tense, anxious. He considered pushing at the edges of her mind with seiðr, but refrained; it was easy enough to guess that she was fretting over him. She still did not understand how much power he wielded.

He and most of the others were herded back under the arena to wait, and the god spent the next few hours contemplating his strategy, listening to the muted shouts and clangs of metal. These mortals appreciated showmanship, clearly, and Loki enjoyed having an audience. In fact, it was one of the perks of sparring with his brother, for the cheers of the crowd that invariably gathered to watch the two princes had always thrilled him, especially when he played one of his tricks.

This Basileus seemed to be the type of man who respected cunning and ferocity, and Loki decided that would be his angle; if the mortal prince found him to be a worthy competitor, he would likely influence Otho to keep him around. It would be an excellent way to sow discord between the two, and it would give him more time to recover before he attempted to escape.

Although, obviously, he would need to figure out a way to keep him away from Aelia. What was she _thinking,_ smiling at him like that? Loki had warned her, weeks before, that her uncle likely intended to use her as a bargaining chip with the emperor’s son. Perhaps she was not truly averse to such a fate. The thought made his blood boil, and several of the gladiators around him cast nervous glances his way, unsettled by the murderous manner in which he glared at the wall.

At long last, when Loki was just starting to go mad from pent-up aggression and anticipation, his turn on the sand came. He stepped out in a line with six other men, squinting in the bright midday sun. The announcer called for the grand finale: a battle royale, a seven-way fight to the death, and the crowd roared to life.

Loki observed the noble’s box carefully; when crafting an effective performance, timing was always key. Otho announced that the prince would do the honor of signaling the beginning of the battle, and Loki chose that moment to plant his sword in the stand and step forward.

 

* * *

 

The god scanned the crowd with a piercing gaze. Aelia’s breath froze in her throat. What was he doing? He raised a hand, and the noise of the crowd died away, leaving behind an almost preternatural silence as an expectant sort of hush fell over the spectators. She leaned forward in her seat, skin prickling with fearful anticipation as she realized that Loki intended to _speak._

“I am Loki,” he roared, “of Asgard.” His voice ripped through stadium, and Aelia realized that she had never heard him like this, so loud and commandeering; the Loki she knew hissed taunts and whispered threatening promises in the shadows.

“I am a god among men,” he continued, looking around with the ease of a king surveying his domain. He smirked as his gaze passed over her seating box, but he did not stop. “And women.”

From behind where she sat, she heard Drucilla and Octavia gasp and giggle, and there were a few whistles and cheers from the commoners in the audience. She risked a glance at the prince beside her, but his expression was merely thoughtful, evaluative. _What are you doing, Loki?_ her mind shrieked.

“Do you desire death?” he cried out, and the noise of the arena began to build again, a slow buzz of excitement increasing as Loki stalked around the perimeter of the sand, with all the grace and ferocity of a feral lion. “Do you, Romans? Do you desire blood?”

They cheered for him openly now, much to her amazement, and she remembered suddenly how thrilled the people had been by his prowess on the day that they had first met, although he had been defeated in the end. The other gladiators seemed frozen in confusion, watching each other and the roaming god uneasily, for the signal to begin still had yet to be given.

Loki neared his sword again, and he turned back to her. No, not to her; it was Basileus Maximus that he locked eyes with now, and neither prince seemed willing to back down from the stare. “I shall give you both,” he declared, and as the crowd roared their approval at his boldness, Basileus gestured for the fight to begin.

The other fighters all moved to encircle Loki, whose blade had returned to his hand almost quicker than her eye could follow. They intended to gang up on him, she realized; he was the greatest threat, and they intended to take him out before they dealt with each other.

Aelia felt a sharp pain in her palms; looking down, she discovered that it was her own nails, her fists unconsciously clenched tight in anxiety. _Oh, Loki,_ she prayed, _I hope that you know what you are doing._

 

* * *

 

The God of Mischief felt incredibly confident, for the other gladiators did exactly as he expected, all turning on him at once. It was the smartest plan of action, especially considering how he had fought when he had been in the arena previously. Unfortunately for them, not all of them were equipped with weapons well-suited for a close-quarters skirmish.

The man armed with a net and trident was first on Loki’s priority list, simply because the net reminded him of the one the Northmen had used to drain his power, and the memory made him angry. The gladiators were all hanging back, seemingly hesitant to make the first move, so Loki did it for them.

He surged forward, startling his target into awkwardly jabbing at him with the trident; the strike was clumsy and easy enough to dodge, and Loki grabbed hold of the shaft, kicking the man in the chest and knocking his grip loose. He felt one of the other swordsmen rushing in to swing at his unprotected back, and he pivoted on his heel, driving the stolen trident into the man’s unshielded belly; first blood. The spectators screamed, and Loki grinned. _That was easy enough,_ he thought.

Protecting his back was going to be the difficult thing, he knew, and he would have to rely on speed alone. In a real battle, he would have depended upon Thor to watch his blind spots. In fact, he felt certain that Thor would have had a marvelous time helping him crush these mortal fighters, and he wished that his brother was by his side.

Loki ripped the trident free and spun it in his hand, striking it into the thigh of one of the more heavily-armored fighters, although the movement left his side exposed, and a spear tip grazed his ribs. He grunted, but did not allow his healing to flow to the cut; he was determined to win on his own physical strength alone. Letting go of the trident, he slammed his elbow down, catching the pole of the spear. He threw all of his weight to the side, dragging the spearman into the dust with him. Loki was quicker to regain his footing than the spearman, and slashed his sword down.

Two down, one disarmed, and one wounded; not bad for the first few minutes, as far as Loki was concerned. He dove behind the trident-wielder, who had scrambled to the side to retrieve his weapon, kicking his legs out from under him and slitting his throat in one decisive stroke. Make that three down, he thought. _Three to go._

Two swordsmen remained, both with heavy upper-body armor and shields, and one more spearman. Loki turned as they circled him. They were wary now, and he was going to have to get in close range. He longed once more for his daggers; swords were too unwieldy for the kind of fluid combat he favored.

Blood trickled down his side and dripped into the sand, and Loki sneered in disgust. He was _sick and tired_ of mortals making him bleed. “Come along,” he taunted, smiling thinly. “Fight me!”

The two swordsmen moved forwards, but they had clearly never fought together before, and their attack was confused, uncoordinated. Loki parried without much difficulty, although he was beginning to work up a sweat, and the cut in his side stung sharply. From where he hovered in the background, the spearman suddenly saw an opening and plunged in; Loki spied him at the last second and fell flat on his back, and the spear tip grazed off the shield of one one of the swordsmen and struck his shoulder.

The swordsman roared in pain, and distracted by his anger, he turned to attack the spearman who had wounded him. Loki used the moment of confusion to roll forward in the sand, determined to finish off the man that he’d previously wounded. Landing on his knees, he thrust upward, and the man toppled to the ground. _Two left._

A heavy metal shield slammed into the side of his face, and Loki cursed as he was knocked back against the ground, his lip busted. Apparently only _one_ was left, then; the final armored swordsman had finished off his competition, and seemed to be in a blood rage of his own. Grabbing a fistful of sand, Loki hurled it into the man’s face, hoping that some of it made it into his helmet.

The man yelled in anger and threw his shield to the ground, ripping off his helmet to claw the grit out of his eyes. Using his sword for leverage, Loki rolled back to his feet, spitting blood into the sand.

“You filthy cheat!” his opponent snarled. “Barbarian scum!”

“Then why are they screaming my name?” Loki bit back, certain that the blood trickling down his chin made his grin all the more disconcerting. And indeed, the crowd _was_ overwhelmingly chanting his name. The battle-rush was exhilarating, singing through his veins, and he did not wish to stop. _Soon,_ he thought. _Soon, I will kill them all._

He ran forward, and his opponent, expecting Loki to roll to the ground once again, lifted his sword for a hard downward stroke; it was a fatal mistake. The god swung to the left and leapt into the air at the last moment, slashing down into the man’s now-exposed neck.

It was over, and the din of the crowd doubled. Breathing heavily, he pulled the sword free, stabbing it once again in the sand. He made his way forward to stand in front of the prince’s box, raising his hands as he smiled arrogantly at the crowd.

Aelia was staring at him in shock and fear, face as white as a ghost. _Perhaps now, she begins to understand,_ Loki thought, and he decided to tease at her mind. She was terrified _for_ him, he realized quickly, and she thought that something must be terribly wrong for him to be unable to heal himself.

She was such a silly little creature, worrying about his flesh wounds when he had just displayed how deadly he was capable of being. It made him laugh. He was torn between whether he should reward her for her loyalty or punish her for doubting his prowess; perhaps he should do _both._ Loki had a feeling that they would both enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

There was an uncomfortable tension in her uncle’s seating box as Loki strode across the blood-stained sand to stand before them. Many of the patricians had cheered for him, but Aelia was more concerned with Otho, who had watched the entire bout with a stony expression. Basileus, too, had not uttered a word, though his cold grey eyes had not left the scene once, almost as if he was memorizing a pattern.

Aelia’s eyes had been fixed on Loki, as well; there was something almost unsettling about watching him fight. His movements were too sharp, too fast, decidedly _inhuman._ Which, she supposed, made sense, but it was one thing to believe that Loki was not of this world, and another thing entirely to see further proof.

“Does he not put on a marvelous show?” she asked the prince, forcing a pleasant expression to her face. She needed to know what he was thinking, if he intended to interfere in her uncle’s plans.

“He does indeed,” Basileus replied, regarding the god before him with steepled fingers. “Otho, you did not tell me that your barbarian was something of an orator.”

“I have had little occasion to speak with him, I confess.”

The princes regarded each other across the distance for a moment more, and Basileus slowly raised a hand, thumb pressed against his fist; it was a sign of approval, and Aelia nearly cried out in relief. The crowd went silent as the emperor’s son stood, and she saw a muscle in Otho’s jaw twitch. _He feels that he is being shown up,_ she thought, _and he is trying to decide how to use this to his benefit._ Her heart raced.

“We salute Loki of Asgard,” he said, “who honors Mars today with his valiance in combat and his offering of blood. We look forward to seeing him battle again.”

Loki smiled sardonically and raised a fist to his heart, nodding his head in the barest hint of a bow. It was an insult, and both men knew it, although it seemed that the crowd was too boisterous and noisy to notice the slight. Aelia was surprised to see the corner of the crown prince’s mouth quirk up, and Loki turned and strode from the sand, leaving his sword behind.

The crowds began to disperse, but the patricians in their booth hung back, looking to spend further time in the presence of the prince. Otho turned to discuss something with the senator; she wondered if one of them had lost money during the match.

“Aelia,” Octavia squealed, leaning forward in her seat, “you are so fortunate! It was certainly worth losing the bracelet,” she added decisively.

For just a moment, Aelia’s temper truly flared, and a jealous thought blossomed in her mind: _Mine._ It shocked her for just a moment, because she could not tell if the voice was her own, or Loki’s; it certainly _sounded_ more like something the god would say, although he was nowhere to be seen.

“I _am_ fortunate,” Aelia replied, and something of an idea formed, an angle she could try to use to get Loki out of his chains. “Loki is very observant, and very powerful. I only wish that I could have him as my personal bodyguard, for such a loyal slave is difficult to come by.”

“Loyal?” inquired Basileus, finally distracted from his musing. “You consider the barbarian gladiator loyal, Sabina?”

“I do,” she said, laughing lightly. “He has never caused even a _bit_ of a stir in the weeks that he has been in our household. In fact, he is exceptionally compliant. Though, of course, he still has his warrior’s pride. I think those are excellent qualities for a guard to have.”

The prince regarded her, and she was struck once again by the _nothingness_ in his eyes. No passion, no anger, no amusement… they were like polished iron, with nothing at all hidden in their depths. It made her uneasy; perhaps she had grown too used to Loki’s constantly-shifting, smoldering glares.

“Then why is he not your personal guard?” he asked her. “He is your slave, after all. His life is in your hands, Sabina.”

“Oh, well, my uncle believes that he still poses a threat, so he is kept chained and guarded when he is not in his cell. I confess that he is not very _useful_ this way, but,” she cast him a bashful look, “I must trust my uncle’s judgment.” It was dangerous, to try to intentionally undermine Otho this way, but Aelia could not think of a better plan.

Basileus smiled at her. “It is an idea that has merit, and I do think that it is a shame to waste such valuable property in a prison cell. I will see what I can do, my lady. Consider it a token of appreciation for a most gracious hostess.”

Her heart nearly skipped a beat, and Aelia was certain that she had misheard. “Really, Your Highness? If _you_ think it wise, then I can hardly argue with you...”

“No one can,” he smiled thinly. “I am certain that Otho will be happy to comply. And, I confess that I am curious to see more of this fighter of yours. He is no common man.”

 _No,_ Aelia thought, _he certainly is not._

 

* * *

 

A silent challenge had been issued, and accepted, and as Loki stalked out of the arena, he pondered how to most efficiently eliminate the mortal prince. A sudden hand on his shoulder distracted him, and Loki bristled, spinning around to meet the cheerful face of Caius.

“I knew that you would emerge victorious,” he grinned. “Although, you could likely use a bandage for your side.”

“Are you always so painfully cheerful?” Loki snapped. The boy’s unbridled positivity was beginning to remind him somewhat of Thor. He was in no mood for it, his powers itching from being constrained during the fight.

Caius shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. I thought that you may wish to see a friendly face, so I took the liberty of informing your guards that I would escort you back to the wagons. They seem rather eager to be rid of you, in fact. I cannot imagine why.”

Loki glared slightly, unsure of what to think of this latest display of impudence. “Do you believe that I require your assistance?” he asked finally, biting back the word _mortal._ He was not ready yet for anyone else but Aelia to know that he was the God of Lies and Mischief, but it was difficult to hold his tongue.

“Come.” The soldier waved for him to follow, and headed down one of the passageways leading to the exit. “To tell you the truth, Loki of Asgard, I have a touch of… what would they call it here? Foresight, perhaps?” He laughed at the god’s startled expression. “Oh, it is not clear, and I cannot choose what I see, but when the instinct comes, I follow it.”

“Is this a skill you practiced at, or is it innate?” he asked, frowning slightly, for he could detect no trace of sorcery around the boy.

“I was born with it. It runs in the family, as they say.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I only feel that you are here for a reason, and that the threads of our fates are now intertwined. So, I am hopeful,” he added, “that we are meant to be friends, rather than enemies, for as I said before, you are a much better fighter.”

Loki scoffed. The boy sounded more like an addled old priest than a soldier. _Mortals are all mad,_ he thought. But nevertheless, he decided that he would spare the boy when he left this place, if possible; perhaps he was going soft after all this time on Midgard. The idea horrified him.

 

* * *

 

When the soldier finally led a freshly-bandged Loki back into his cell, his mortal was there, waiting for him, looking just as beautiful as she had that morning. Caius gave them both a strange, amused sort of look. “I must return to my actual post,” he said as he moved to close the door, “and I would expect the usual guards to return in around a quarter of an hour, my lady.” The girl nodded at him, and the door clicked shut, leaving them alone for the first time in over three days.

To Loki, it had felt like an eternity. He wondered if this was what it felt like to truly be mortal, to be so painfully aware of the passing of every single day, every hour. It was not a feeling that he was used to experiencing; why should he, when he had eternity? But the girl, he knew, did not.

Her hands lifted from her sides, as if she was debating whether or not to go to him. “I snuck away,” she said quietly. “I only have a few moments before I am missed.”

“Were you worried about me, Lady Lia?” he asked, moving forward as she blushed at the memory the pet name recalled. It brought a grin to his face.

“You were bleeding,” she blustered, her hands falling back to her sides as she looked up at him. “Quite a bit, it seemed.”

“It was just a scratch, pet. I thought that it might prove informative to battle without using any of my abilities, healing included.”

Aelia blinked. “That was with no magic?” she asked, voice a bit weak. “The way you move does not seem… natural.”

“Yes. ” Loki smirked, eyes drawn to her pretty red lips. “I am what I am, even without seiðr. Now, come and give me a kiss.”

“What?” Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, a distracted sort of look in her eyes.

She was so close that Loki could almost _taste_ her, but this was a test of obedience, of her willingness to capitulate. He placed his hand over his heart, covering the sun brooch that rested there still. “Your _champion_ has been grievously wounded, my lady,” he elaborated, smiling indulgently at her visible discomfort. “Do I not deserve a token of appreciation?”

Of course, the girl still looked hesitant, although she had turned a lovely shade of pink. “Come now, mortal,” Loki whispered, lifting his hand to trail his knuckles across the thin fabric hiding the remnants of his fervor. “You and I both know what you desire. You cannot hide from me.”

Aelia inhaled sharply, a shaky, startled sound, and he might have laughed, had she not immediately risen on her toes to softly press her lips to his. Her fingers dug into his chest as she leaned into him for balance, and he angled his head lower, hoping that easier access would encourage her to continue.

Loki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides; it was not in his nature to be satisfied by such gentleness, and he struggled at the confusing whirl of sensation it inspired. Fighting the instinct to grab her and dominate the kiss was no small feat, but he knew that if he started, he would not be able to stop. It was certainly not an opportune time for such a thing; in fact, he could not even risk smudging her rouge or mussing her hair.

A small groan escaped him, and the girl broke away, startled. He studied her flushed, uncertain expression, wondering briefly if it may be worth the ensuing struggle with the mortals, if he kept her here now. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea, after all.

“You need to leave now, little mortal,” Loki told her softly, but his voice must have promised more danger than he had intended, for there was fearful apprehension in the girl’s eyes as she took a step back. It made him want to chase after her.

Aelia reached the door, then paused, turning back to him for a moment. “I am happy that you were victorious today, God of Mischief,” she said softly, and then she slipped outside.

He heard the lock click, and then her footsteps quickly retreating. Feeling something like a lion that had been denied a well-hunted meal, Loki hefted the clay water jug near his pallet and threw it against the wall, enjoying the sound of the pottery exploding into shards and spraying across the cell. Yes, _asking_ her for a kiss had been a mistake. Loki was a god; he was not meant to ask.

Loki was meant to _take._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This chapter was supposed to be finished on Christmas Eve, but some real life stuff came up and pushed it back a bit. Please accept an unplanned kiss between these two crazy kids in penance <3


	21. XXI

Prince Basileus had asked for a tour of the villa while they waited for all of the guests to arrive for dinner, and he had insisted that Aelia be the one to guide him. He said that he did not want to cause much of a fuss, that he would prefer a more private stroll; apparently, in the case of a prince, this meant that  _ only _ two soldiers would accompany them. It was not Aelia’s idea of a private stroll, but she did not really wish to be alone with him, and it was not as if she was unused to being followed everywhere. 

“You have always lived here, isn’t that right?” he asked as they passed through the hallways. 

“For as long as I can remember, Your Highness.”

“What of the time you spent in the barbarian North as a child? Have you no memories of that?”

Aelia flinched slightly, but everyone  _ knew, _ it was no secret, and she supposed royalty was allowed a level of public bluntness not afforded to everyone else. “I remember nothing before my uncle brought me here.”

“Hmm. Otho has kept you quite hidden away, hasn’t he? I am surprised that he never brought you to visit in the capital city in the heart of Rome.” He smiled at her. “I am sure that you would be most welcome.”

“That is kind of you to say, sire.” They turned a corner and the hallway where the slave chambers lay stretched out to their right. Her heart pounded, and she made to hurry by it. “This hallway is mostly where slaves and lower-ranking servants reside,” she told him, hoping that he would consider such things beneath him.

She had no such luck. “Is this where your slave Loki is kept, then?” the prince asked. “I would be curious to see him outside of battle.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Aelia replied. If he wanted to go inspect Loki, there really was nothing she could do to stop him, and she hesitated over her words. “He will be at the banquet tonight, if you wish to observe him under more pleasant conditions.”

“Is that so?” his grey eyes turned back to her. “A barbarian at the banquet, how fascinating. I shall look forward to it.” 

Masking a sigh of relief, Aelia proceeded on the tour.  _ What does he want? _ His every move seemed so calculated and calm, and she wondered if a temper like her uncle’s lurked beneath; she knew better than to trust Roman courtliness. That was the kind of menace she was used to, and she found Basileus increasingly disconcerting, for she did not know what he would do if she somehow displeased him.

She eventually guided him back to his own entourage in the guest chambers so that he could relax and refresh himself before the evening, and Aelia briefly entertained the idea of sneaking back to Loki’s cell.  _ This is not some romantic folk tale,  _ she scolded herself.  _ You cannot go off sneaking kisses from the dangerous god whenever you feel like it. _ Besides, she was a bit afraid to face him again, unsure of what he would do if they were alone again. He had looked ready to devour her, when he told her to leave. It was terrifying, but also a secret thrill.  _ There is probably something wrong with me, _ Aelia concluded. 

Instead, she went to her chamber to hide for a few moments before she had to go and begin greeting guests. Lavinia was waiting outside of her door, and she followed her inside and bolted it closed. “Do you wish to change, Mistress?” she asked politely, but Aelia could tell that she was holding something back. 

“No, Lavinia,” she sighed, crossing the room to sit on the edge of her bed. “And you may say whatever it is that is on your mind, although I have a feeling that I can guess.”

The maid moved to sit beside her, a gesture that would have been highly inappropriate in public. “Aelia, I  _ know _ that you slipped away to see him. You cannot… you cannot keep putting yourself at risk like this, especially not now.”

“He was wounded,” Aelia muttered stubbornly, “It is my responsibility to take oversee his care.”

“Of  _ course _ he was wounded, my lady!” Lavinia exclaimed. “He is a  _ gladiator, _ and an incredibly dangerous creature, outside of that! It is a weak excuse, and you  _ know _ it.” Aelia did not reply, and the maid changed tacks. “It is  _ my _ responsibility to oversee  _ your _ care. The guards will report it to your uncle.”

“They will not. Caius had temporarily relieved them of their duties.”

“Caius?” The maid groaned and dropped her head into her hands, and Aelia felt her guilt increase. “Caius is involved in this whole mess now, as well?”

“I did not ask anything of him, Lavinia, he was simply there. He is trustworthy.”

“I know, but it is another neck for the axe to fall upon when the master finds out.”

_ “If  _ he finds out.”

“If,” Lavinia repeated, sighing in defeat.

Aelia took her hand. “Please,” she begged. “Please just trust me to handle this.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Despite her words, the look of disappointment in the maid’s eyes made Aelia’s heart fall, and she sent her away, determined to be alone with her thoughts for at least a few precious moments. Closing her eyes, she pictured Loki on the battlefield, covered in blood, much of it not his own. She pictured him him in the darkness, eyes glittering as he pinned her to her bed and kissed her. Then, she allowed herself to envision them walking through the halls together, hand-in-hand, no guards trailing behind them. 

It was a foolish daydream, and the image of Loki strolling through Otho’s villa without a care in the world seemed woefully out-of-place, but it was something happy to cling to, something to  _ want. _ Now that she had begun to want, now that this need had been awakened, she found it terribly difficult to stop. 

 

* * *

 

It was his usual guards who came to collect him that evening, and they did not seem very pleased about the shattered pottery littering the room. “It fell over,” Loki innocently informed them. 

“We will actually be allowed to enjoy the festivities tonight, slave,” Decimus said quickly, heading off Drusus’s temper. “But the entire villa is now crawling with soldiers, so I suggest that you are on your best behavior.”

“Of course,” he grinned. “Do I get my clothing back, now?”

“No.”

Well, Loki did not mind that, as ridiculous as this gladiator garb was. Let them all see how perfect he was, how he had escaped from battle with mere scratches while his opponents bled out on the sand. Let them see how, even as a captive, he was still better than them all. 

When they came into the dining hall, it was already buzzing with activity, more crowded than he had ever seen it before. His girl was already there, pretty as a picture, sitting far too close to the mortal prince. Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly. Perhaps he should have kept her hidden away in his cell, after all.  

Drusus gave him an unnecessary shove. “Off to your station, slave.”

“Happily,” Loki replied, eager to get one last dig in, “for my lady awaits.” He was still smirking when he crossed the room, ignoring the stares of the guests as he came to stand behind her. Aelia glanced up at him, her eyes filled with their usual worry.  _ Once I am in control, _ Loki thought,  _ she will never have to worry again. Well, about anything other than pleasing me, at least.  _ That made him smile. 

“Here is the infamous barbarian gladiator at last,” Basileus declared, sitting up on his couch. “I must confess, you look rather out of place.” There were a few laughs from the nobles within earshot, but the mortal prince watched him, waiting for a response.

The god smiled thinly. “I am unaccustomed to feasting halls this… small.”

The guests around them went deathly quiet, and he could practically  _ feel _ the anger radiating from the master of the villa, but after a beat, the prince laughed. “You are bold, Loki of Asgard. Tell me, how did you come to be here?”

“I sat upon a throne, and its previous occupant was not appreciative. You understand how these things work, of course.”

“Of course.” The prince’s eyes were cold, just the smallest hint of a genuine smile playing across his lips.  “Lady Aelia tells me that you are a most loyal slave. Subservience seems highly at-odds with what I have seen of you.”

“I adapt well.”

“I can see that. Do you consider yourself an ally to the Northmen?”

Loki shrugged. “Why should I?” He was an ally to none of these mortal fools, but now he understood what the prince was after; Basileus saw before him a powerful tool, an unsympathetic killer with no ties. Yes, that was just the sort of man an ambitious royal could put to good use.

“Marvelous.” The prince turned to his host. “Otho, my friend, your slave here has true potential. Many fine soldiers were once prisoners of war.” 

“While I cannot deny that he would be a tremendous asset on the battlefield, I do not trust his loyalty as blindly as my niece does, sire. Dear Sabina is quite sheltered, and she does not understand the complexities of such things.”

Aelia flinched when her uncle referred to her, a movement so small that he doubted a mortal could catch it, but Loki did.  _ It is fine, _ he wanted to reassure her.  _ If he touches you, I will kill him that much sooner. _

“I think,” Basileus said, “that she is far more clever than you give her credit for; is that not so, Lady Aelia?”

She blushed. “I am flattered that you would say so, sire, but I am certainly not qualified to judge.”

“Clever, beautiful, modest… excellent qualities in a lady.” Ah, Loki realized, he was dangling the possibility of a betrothal in front of Otho as bait. “Do you consider yourself a good judge of character, my lady?”

“I would like to think so, Your Highness.”

“Let us test that. I think that it is time to see whether Loki of Asgard can be trusted to serve Roman interests when he is not chained and guarded like a prisoner.”

Despite her visible anxiety, Aelia had a look in her eyes that was almost  _ pleased,  _ and Loki glanced at her suspiciously. Was this her doing? 

“Unless, of course, you object,” the prince added as an afterthought, cool eyes sliding back to the girl’s uncle. 

“I do not object, sire, but I do worry over the safety of my niece. It would be careless of me to risk her life to test the barbarian’s loyalty.” The lie in his voice was blatant, and Loki’s hatred of the man grew stronger. 

“Do you wager often, my lady?” the prince asked Aelia, smiling pleasantly. 

“No, sire.”

“Are you willing to wager your life that this slave will not turn traitor?”

Loki was surprised by her lack of hesitancy. “I am,” she replied. “It is as you say, sire; what use will I be as mistress of a household if I cannot even judge the intentions of my own slaves?”

“Spoken like a queen; running a household is much like running an empire - you must be certain of who you can fully trust. Is that not so, Otho?”

Loki watched carefully as Aelia’s uncle murmured his assent, intrigued by the tension between the two. He wondered if the man was simply bitter about being outranked in his own home, or if there was something larger at work. As much as he enjoyed being embroiled in political drama, his mortal was a bit more fragile, and he could not allow her to get damaged in some petty Midgardian power struggle.

“I greatly appreciate your faith in me, sire,” Aelia said, studiously avoiding her uncle’s gaze. “Sit, Loki,” she commanded, and he tried to hold back a snort as he complied.  _ Compliance merits rewards. _ He had an eternity to reap his rewards.

The mood of the room seemed to relax somewhat, and Loki leaned back against the side of Aelia’s couch, pondering. He had not been lying to the mortal prince; he  _ did _ adapt well. When he had first arrived here, being forced to sit on the floor would have sent him into a rage. Now, he was content to let his irritation simmer along quietly, confident that everything was under control, although the process  _ was _ regrettably slow. 

Though he knew that he should be carefully listening to the chatter surrounding him, it was mostly tedious pleasantries and flatteries, and he could not help but to let his thoughts wander. The gown his mortal wore today was pretty; he did not usually pay much attention to such things, but strangely enough, he found himself actually  _ appreciative _ of the way the soft, warm tones gave her an added air of vitality. _ Little fire-flower.  _

_ Oh, _ he suddenly realized,  _ that would be perfect. _ He had been starting to wonder where he should stash her away when he returned her to Asgard, for he knew that his father would likely send her straight back to this mudhole. However, Loki owned his own hunting cabin in the mountains of Ringsfjord, difficult to reach by conventional travel and infrequently-used. Yes, a few cloaking spells to avert Heimdall’s gaze, and he could likely keep her there without any fuss for as long as he wanted. He was beginning to think that might be longer than he had originally anticipated.  _ She did say that she wanted to see the flowers, _ he thought. 

Aelia’s voice suddenly filtered through his thoughts, sweet but strained. “That sounds lovely, Drucilla,” she said. “Would you care to join us, Your Highness?”

“Please do,” the other woman purred. “Boreacastra may have started out as nothing more than a simple military outpost, but it is quite the bustling little town now. Nothing as exciting as the capital, of course, but the marketplace can be quite entertaining.”

“You ladies actually venture out into the marketplace?”

“With our maids and guards, of course, sire,” Drucilla replied. “It is a rather amusing way to spend an afternoon. We ladies  _ do _ need to get out and about, too, you know.”

The girl beside her giggled. Loki could not remember her name, but he found her laugh rather grating. It was no wonder that Aelia seemed so tense around the two. Another woman leaned forward on her couch, her light blonde wig ever-so-slightly askew. “I would love to accompany you as well, if my husband Lucius does not object. Things have been so  _ dreadfully _ busy lately,” she sighed dramatically. “Some leisure time would be wonderful.”

“Is this not leisurely enough, Lucia?” Aelia asked, an undercurrent of irritation in her voice, and Loki blinked in surprise. The woman’s name was Lucia, and her husband’s name was Lucius?  _ Mortals. _

_ “Darling, _ you know what I mean. What do you say, Your Highness?”

Basileus smiled indulgently. “I cannot refuse such lovely hosts, can I? Let us plan for the day after tomorrow, so long as the weather holds. I have quite a bit of business to attend to tomorrow, unfortunately.”

“Of course, sire,” Aelia demurred. “We are at your disposal.”

Loki was surprised to find that, other than some of the guests pointing and approaching to stare at him more closely, he was left mostly to himself for the majority of the evening. He was certain that the girl’s uncle had intended to make more of a spectacle of him, but his mood seemed to have soured rather rapidly. He was glad for it. Before he knew it, he was being dismissed. 

“I trust that you can find your way back to your cell?” Aelia asked him, brow raised regally. “I will inform your guards that they no longer need to accompany you everywhere. Consider it a test of your obedience.”

He might have been rankled by her words, had he not been able to see the pleading in her eyes. “Of course, my lady.”

But even for Aelia, Loki was not willing to be  _ fully _ obedient, and he decided to take some time returning to the barren box that was his cell. The villa was bustling, and he noticed a few servants giving him strange looks as they hurried past, but no one tried to intercept him. That was the key - act as if you were going about some important business, and everyone would assume that it was the truth. It would certainly have helped if he had been wearing more than a loincloth and a bandage.

There were too many soldiers about for him to wander around for very long before someone took notice, and as much as he wanted to, now was not an opportune time to slip into his mortal’s chambers, though he would have loved to lie in wait for her there. Instead, he stole away to the library she had shown him before, curious to see if there was anything useful he could pilfer. 

He did not care to steal any books, and it seemed as his life was about to get significantly less boring, anyway, but there was a desk that he had noticed last time, and he felt that it had promise. Having superior senses certainly helped things, and after checking to make sure the hallway was empty, he slipped inside. The lamps inside were lit, which struck Loki as a tremendous waste, but he supposed every room had to be kept in a constant state of readiness in case the prince decided to drop in to visit.  _ Well,  _ he smirked,  _ I suppose a prince  _ has _ decided to drop in for a visit. _

The small wooden desk in the corner did not house many items of interest, mostly just writing supplies and old notes. However, he  _ did _ discover a small penknife, which he safely tucked away in his belt. Really, he mused, it was fortunate in a way that he did not find anything more substantial; being nearly naked did not leave many places to hide away stolen goods. He was about to leave, relatively satisfied with his prize, when he suddenly hesitated, turning back towards the shelves. 

Loki went and scanned the texts, finally locating and pulling down the one that little Aelia had been so interested in during their unconventional library picnic. He did not care for mortal sorcery, particularly blood magic,  _ but… _ there was mortal magic involved in these bindings of his, so he knew that it might work, at least partially. It just seemed so  _ messy. _ Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Loki ripped the page free, tucking it away alongside his knife. It was an option to consider, at least. 

He waited inside the door for a moment, closing his eyes and listening carefully for the racket of mortals moving about the villa. The hallway was clear, and he slipped outside, making his way speedily to the cell. Would Otho really allow him the freedom to move about the villa unhindered, even if he had agreed to the prince’s decision? Loki was not sure, but he did know that he had no friends here. His guards may have their duties reduced, but he had no doubt that they would still be watching him very carefully.

It was cold in his cell, but his regular clothes were waiting, along with a large hamper of food. He closed the door behind him, wishing that it locked from the inside, for he was in no mood to be disturbed by more mortals. It was unsurprising, given the physical demands of the day, that Loki was famished, but he had been so distracted that he had not even noticed. As he ate, he studied his stolen page. Frigga would certainly be displeased if he meddled in outright human sacrifice while working seiðr, and the phrase  _ “only the dying may free the living” _ seemed rather clear-cut. 

Well, he could save that as a last resort. At least it seemed as though he was going to be given relatively more freedom now, which he hoped would help to temper his impatience. Examining the tiny blade he had found, he wondered if he would be able to conjure one of his own knives at will, but he suspected it would drain him too greatly, so he refrained.  _ I am becoming more durable again,  _ he noted absently, pressing the blade lightly against his thumb. It was a relief; while his wounds today were not deep, the fact that he had been made to bleed at all was frustrating. Soon, they would struggle to put a scratch on him. Would they realize then what sort of being was in their midst?

_ A few weeks more. _ A few weeks more, and he would be free.

 

* * *

 

Aelia woke early again the next day, annoyed that she had to go through so much effort to get dressed just to spend the day in her own villa - the pains of hosting a prince.  _ Well, _ she reminded herself,  _ two princes. _ Perhaps she should pretend that all of the trouble was for Loki, who had devoured her with his eyes so eagerly yesterday. She blushed at the memory itself, and at the memory of the dream that it had inspired. It made her feel frightened, but also a bit… powerful. There was a  _ god _ in her home, and he desired her,  _ ‘mere mortal’ _ though she may be. 

She had managed to rise before Lavinia appeared, and she decided to go fetch the maid herself. A slave was waiting outside her door, head bowed, starting to attention when she appeared. “Apologies, my lady,” the boy said. “I was told not to disturb you until you were ready for the day, but I have a message from the master.”

Staring at him, heart racing a bit from the surprise of finding someone hovering just outside of her doorway, she asked, “What is my uncle’s message?”

“He requests that you report to his study as soon as you are able. I believe that he is discussing something with Senator Juvenus currently, however, so I do not think that you have any need to rush.”

“Thank you, I will attend him shortly.”

The boy bowed and scurried away, and Aelia wondered how long he had been standing there, afraid to knock, but equally afraid to abandon his task. Did that indicate that her uncle was in a temper already, this early in the morning? Just then, Lavinia emerged from her chamber across the hall. “Oh, my lady,” she said, startled, “I did not expect you to be up yet. I was just coming to assist you.”

“I will accept all of the assistance I can get,” Aelia groaned. “Otho has summoned me to his study.”

Lavinia forced a smile. “I am sure that it is nothing to worry about, Lady Aelia. There is likely quite a bit to discuss regarding our visitors.”

“Let us hope so.”

Getting dressed did not take as long as she might have wished, and today she wore green. Her hair was in a simple plait, a few ribbons expertly woven in; she was in a stubborn mood, after enduring the stress of the day prior, and she was in no mood to be a spectacle. Lavinia trailed behind her as she went along her way, nearly tripping when Aelia made a turn that she was not expecting. “We are going to fetch Loki,” she announced, tone allowing no room for argument. “Prince Basileus graciously freed us of those wretched guards, so he can actually be put to good use.”

She did not look back as she headed to his cell, but after a moment’s hesitation, she heard the maid follow. There were no guards stationed specifically outside of Loki’s cell, so Aelia had to ask one of the patrolling soldiers to fetch a key. “This room is to be unlocked first thing in the morning,” she ordered. “My slave should be able to attend to his duties as soon as the other servants are up and about.”

Lavinia was watching her as if she had lost her mind. “If you could please refrain from saying anything,” Aelia told her, “I would greatly appreciate it.” It was too early for any near-death confrontations, and she refused to fully trust Loki’s behavior, even though she was risking quite a bit on his continued acquiescence.

The guard returned with the key and unlocked the door, and Aelia quickly dismissed him. He looked skeptical, but did not question her. She told herself that she should not be so afraid, that she had survived being with him unguarded many times before; if Loki’s priority was killing her, he had already been provided with ample opportunity. Still, she held her breath as she opened the door, bracing herself for the worst.

Loki sat cross-legged on his pallet, staring at the doorway; he had clearly been waiting for her, and Aelia realized that he had likely heard every word she had just said. “Come in, my lady,” he smirked. “I promise I won’t bite.”

_ Won’t you, though? _ she thought. “You will be accompanying me today, Loki,” Aelia said. “Please come along; I am in a hurry.”

He stood with inhuman grace; she did not believe that she would ever become used to that, the way he moved so fluidly, with careful precision. “A day spent with you, Lady Aelia?” he purred. “I would be delighted.” She turned away to hide her blush, heading down the hall and trusting that the others would follow.

The god caught up with her easily, and Lavinia hovered close behind. “I informed the prince that I believe you would be more useful as a bodyguard than as a prisoner,” she told him, keeping her eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Do you agree?”

“Oh, I do,” Loki assured her, poorly-disguised laughter in his voice. “No one could guard your body better, in fact.” Aelia’s blush deepened, and she risked a glance at his face; his eyes were sparkling with mischief, and he looked incredibly pleased with himself. 

“Try to be serious, Loki. Uncle has summoned me to his study, and I do not know the reason why. It is best to keep a low profile.”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes, and his smile vanished. “You do not know what he might want?”

“No.” Aelia was certain that Otho would not strike her, however; it would not do for him to risk any marks while she was meant to be flirting with royalty. “It will be fine,” she assured him. Loki merely frowned.

Marcus Juvenus was leaving her uncle’s study when they approached, looking a bit red in the face. He stopped short when he spotted her. “Senator Juvenus,” she exclaimed, “Is everything alright?”

“Sabina, dear, I did not expect to see you here so early in the morning! Yes, yes, nothing is wrong,” he assured her distractedly. “Otho is just being his usual conniving self, but he will come around.”

She blinked at him in confusion. It was unusual for the two of them to be at odds, and especially to the extent that Juvenus would mention it in front of her. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?” she asked, praying that the answer would be no.

“Perhaps, perhaps.” There was a strange look in his eyes as he examined her, and Aelia felt her skin crawl, a reaction that she had become used to after many years spent around the old senator. “I will be seeing you soon, Lady Aelia,” he said, clasping her hand and kissing it before he hurried away.

Loki suddenly loomed close behind her, and she shivered as she felt his breath ghost across her cheek. “Shall I kill him?” he whispered.  

“No,” she hissed, aghast. “Of course not.”

“I shall wait,” he conceded. 

There was no point in arguing with him. Aelia sighed, wishing that she could simply disappear, escaping from all of this chaos. She opened the door to the study, horrified when Loki followed her inside. But then, it was too late, and she could not afford to make the move look unintentional, not with Otho waiting for this little experiment of the prince’s to fail. 

“Niece,” her uncle acknowledged, fingers steepled as he watched her from where he sat, by all appearances perfectly calm. His eyes slid over to the god by her side, lip twitching slightly. “And slave.”

“Good morning, Uncle,” Aelia said brightly, hoping that they could fake their way through a pleasant exchange. “You sent for me?”

“Yes, I did. I do not know what game you are playing at, Aelia, but it is proving most effective.” His serious expression was replaced by a smirk. “You have the crown prince intrigued, don’t you, little wretch? I knew that some of Sabinus’s cleverness was tucked away in that golden head of yours.”

Aelia’s heartbeat quickened. “What do you mean, Uncle?”

Otho crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “I do not care about the slave, Aelia. Have your fun, wring whatever  _ favors _ you can from  _ His Highness. _ In fact, do whatever you wish to keep his interest, for he  _ has _ expressed interest.”

The room suddenly felt too small, and she struggled to breathe. “His Highness has expressed... interest?” she questioned. Of course, she  _ had _ wanted the prince to favor her, at least enough to help with her plans to free Loki, but this was far,  _ far _ too sudden, and Otho looked too pleased. Otho’s pleasure never boded well for her.

“Do not pretend to be daft, niece,” Otho scoffed. “Having a wife and heirs lends respectability to a future emperor. Despite the  _ tragic _ circumstances of your creation, you are a unique little specimen. The prince enjoys collecting unique things.” He smiled. “And it seems that this little power play of yours has captured his notice.”

“He said this?”

“No, of course not. He spoke of your  _ beauty _ and  _ poise… _ but we both know that there are many who are  _ far _ more beautiful and  _ far _ more poised.” His tone was mocking, and Aelia tried not to let it hurt her; it should not, after all these years. “No, he did not have to say it. I know how he thinks. It would be wise of him to consolidate power with our house,” he added. “The northern territories are rapidly expanding under my watch, and I have been a loyal servant of Rome for many years; I have no doubts that the emperor would approve.” 

She could not tell if having Loki towering over her shoulder was a help, or a hindrance. While she felt a bit safer in his presence, she was also terribly ashamed that he was witnessing this. Aelia took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Does this mean that I am going to be betrothed to Basileus Maximus, Uncle?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

Otho laughed at her boldness. “Not yet, you eager thing, at least not in any official capacity. I suppose I  _ do _ understand why you would prefer him over that old fool Juvenus.”  _ Ah, _ she realized,  _ that is why the senator left in such a state of agitation. _

“Go about your business,” he said, dismissing her with a cold smile. “But do not  _ dare _ to jeopardize this arrangement, or I will sell you off to someone with a  _ fraction _ of Juvenus’s gentility, mark my words.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer-than-usual wait! Loki thinks he has everything all figured out, doesn't he?


	22. XXII

_ Well, _ Aelia told herself as she hurried across the villa,  _ it could have been worse. _ Yes, it certainly could have been worse, all things considered. She was not sure what Loki might have done if Otho had struck her, but she was certain that it would have been violent; he did not like others touching his things, she knew. So far, the god had yet to say a word, though it seemed as if she could almost  _ feel _ his tension, like a snake coiled and ready to strike. Perhaps it was her imagination.  

She needed to stay busy; if she stopped and spent any time thinking about the implications of what her uncle was suggesting, she might begin to panic. “Lavinia,” she said, “go see if you can prize some spending money from Caecilius for this outing we are undertaking to the marketplace tomorrow. Remind him that Otho would not wish to look stingy in front of our guests.” The household manager was not fond of her, and he was notoriously tight-fisted, but Aelia did not see how he could refuse her this time.

The maid left without argument, though a bit reluctantly, and Aelia turned to head to the old storage rooms on the outskirts of the villa, Loki trailing behind her like some sort of tall, menacing shadow. She slowed a bit, wanting him within close earshot. “You should not have followed me in there,” she said softly. 

Loki scoffed. “You forget that you do not command me, girl.  _ If _ and  _ when _ I do as you ask, it is only out of graciousness. I do as I please.”

Aelia did not respond; how could she? It was true, and they both knew it. Loki could go on a rampage at a moment’s notice, and there would not be a thing she could do to stop it.  _ Just put your faith in the God of Lies, _ she thought, laughing at herself. 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“I need to check the inventory of old military supplies that we keep in storage. The prince, it seems, collected some new recruits en-route, and they need any extra materials they can get to tide them over until official shipments arrive from the south.”

The storage rooms were attached to the villa only by a narrow covered walkway, and due to the early chill of the morning, not many people were up and outside yet. Aelia was grateful for the privacy, although she kept expecting Loki’s guards to appear out of nowhere to follow her. 

She unbolted the shed and pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into the mirky darkness, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim light filtering through the small cutout windows near the roof. The door creaked shut behind her, and she turned to discover that Loki was nowhere to be seen. Aelia’s skin broke out in goosebumps; she hated this, the feeling of being watched while he hid somewhere in the darkness. It was probably why he enjoyed it so greatly.

“Loki?” she called out quietly, eyes scanning the corners where the deepest shadows lay. “This is not amusing.”

_ “I beg to differ, _ ” she heard him say, but she could not pinpoint the sound. In fact, Aelia was not certain that he had said it aloud, at all. 

“Loki-” she began warningly, taking a step back towards the door, and suddenly he was there, right behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. 

“We are alone, pet. I have been exceptionally lenient in public due to extenuating circumstances, but I now  _ highly _ recommend that you show some respect.”

Aelia shivered. Why did his voice have such an effect on her? “My lord,” she ventured.

The god laughed. “Try again, and this time, remember that I deserve far more deference than that mortal prince of yours.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, sighing in defeat.  _ Of course, _ she thought.  _ His ego cannot take the affront of me referring to another royal with the proper titles. _ “Your Highness,” she said. “Sire.”

“Much better,” Loki praised, and he slid around in front of her, pushing her back against the nearest empty space of wall. Dust stirred, and Aelia could not hold back a sneeze. For a moment, Loki looked startled, but then he began to chuckle as he leaned over, gathering up the long skirt of her stola and bunching the fabric just below her hips.

“What are you doing?” she whispered furiously, pushing against his shoulders in a useless gesture of protest.

He rolled his eyes. “I am trying to be  _ thoughtful _ and not rip your gown,” Loki stated matter-of-factly, and Aelia turned pink. “I like the color of this one, actually.” Bending over slightly again, she felt his hands slide down the back of her thighs, and suddenly her feet were no longer on the ground.

The sudden loss of balance was highly unsettling, and Aelia tried to mask her shriek of surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck without thinking. Loki pressed her more firmly into the wall, pinning her in place. “This would be  _ far _ more comfortable for both of us if you would wrap your legs around me,” he teased. “I would appreciate my hands being free.”

Aelia’s blush deepened. She was embarrassed enough, and she did not need him making it worse by mocking her for not knowing what to  _ do _ in such a situation. “You are a cad,  _ sire.” _

“Yes,” he smirked, eyes glittering. “And you are exceptionally short,  _ my lady, _ so forgive me while I determine the logistics of this.”

She might have asked what he meant by that, but he suddenly shifted her a bit higher against the wall before letting go, and fearing an awkward slide down the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist like a vice. 

“That is much better,” he said, satisfied, and he loosened her grip on his neck, trying to put some space between their chests; it became apparently why he was so eager to do so immediately, as he reached to tug the pins at her shoulders loose. She heard two faint ‘pings’ as they hit the wooden floor, and she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. In fact, it was suddenly difficult to even  _ think. _

One hand returned to support her weight, and the other tugged down the fabric of her dress. It was cold in the shed, and Aelia  _ knew _ that she should be freezing, but she was not; in fact, she felt as if she had caught fire. It was distracting,  _ so _ distracting that she was surprised when Loki suddenly bit down on the fair skin right beside the very last vestiges of one of her fading bruises. “Stop,” she gasped, despite how  _ good _ it felt. “You will leave a mark.”

She could feel his smile against her skin. “That is the idea,” he replied, soothing the spot with his tongue before trailing kisses up her neck.

“I will scream,” she threatened half-heartedly, but they both knew that she did not intend to call for help, that she had no real desire to save herself from him. 

He began to work his way down the other side of her neck, and his hand slid down further to cup one of her still-covered breasts, her head cracking against the wall a bit painfully as she unthinkingly arched into his touch. “If only we had time for that,” he sighed regretfully. 

As overwhelmingly exciting as Loki’s current attentions were, Aelia decided that if she was going to pursue the path of licentiousness in an old storage shed, she at least deserved a  _ real _ kiss, and she tugged on his hair to try to bring him within range. When he first lifted his head, he looked irritated, but his expression softened somewhat when he saw the way she was nervously biting her lip.  _ His hair is so soft,  _ she thought, slightly distracted again.

“Yes?” he prompted, the patience in his voice slightly forced.

How was one meant to ask for a kiss from a god? She had a feeling that Loki would tell her to beg. But  _ he _ would not beg; he took what he wanted, and Aelia decided that, in the spirit of recklessness, she would do the same. Grabbing more of his hair with her other hand, she yanked him forward into a forceful kiss. Unbidden, the memory arose of the punishing way he had kissed her when they first met, her  _ first _ kiss, and the way that he had mocked her. _ “I am certain you would become quite proficient with practice,” _ he’d told her then. From the way that he was responding now, Aelia decided that he might find her to be a bit more  _ proficient _ than he had let on, and she was flooded with an odd sense of pride. 

When he finally broke away, she was secretly thrilled that she had managed to get the god breathing heavily. It certainly would not be fair for her to be the  _ only _ one, after all. 

 

* * *

 

As Loki tried to calm himself, he studied the mortal’s face, wondering if she even realized that she was practically smirking, surprised to find that he actually  _ liked _ it. Was he going soft, to find such impudence endearing? Perhaps it was simply an unfortunate side-effect of trysting with a mortal, such a passionate, short-lived little thing. He found it fascinating, in a way, that such a fragile creature would exhibit such a wanton, careless lust for life, especially when faced with the danger that was Loki. She certainly seemed more excited now than fearful, evidenced by her darkening eyes and soft panting for air, by the way her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her breast band. “Greedy wench,” he muttered, giving one a hard tweak as he tried to look severe. 

Aelia gasped, and he found it exceedingly difficult to retain his train of thought as she squirmed against him. “Be still,” Loki ordered, frowning regally. “How am I to punish you, girl, when you so clearly  _ enjoy _ it?” His mortal turned scarlet, and he struggled to keep his expression aloof, even though he dearly wanted to laugh at her embarrassment. 

“You could  _ not _ punish me,” she suggested.

“Ah, but you would enjoy that, as well.” She was going to become quite spoiled, he realized then, if he already allowed her so many liberties. The thought bothered him, and he stepped back from the wall and let go of her, leaving her to awkwardly cling to him as she tried to keep from sliding to the ground despite the sudden lack of support. 

She found her footing and stepped away from him, holding her loose gown to her chest. It made Loki a bit uncomfortable, how quickly her enthusiasm faded into chagrin. Avoiding his gaze, she squinted at the floor, and he quickly concluded that she was searching for the pins to re-fasten her clothing.  _ She cannot see as well in the darkness,  _ he remembered suddenly, a bit taken aback at the reminder that she was so very  _ different. _ He sighed, kneeling to retrieve the gleaming pins from the dusty floor. 

It was unexpected, he could tell, this show of consideration, and Aelia watched him with wide eyes as he deftly pinned the fabric of one shoulder together. The moment only increased his discomfort, and so Loki decided to do what he did best - talk. “I never thought that I would find myself appreciative of modest clothing,” he remarked, tugging the cloth from her fingers to fasten the other side. “But I must admit, it does have its uses.”

“It does?” she whispered, and he wondered why she looked almost more frightened now than she had moments before, when such feelings would have been sensible. 

“To hide secrets,” Loki replied with a smirk, trailing his knuckles across her chest.  _ And to hide you away from the eyes of mortal men, _ he thought. Were he at his full power, he would be perfectly happy to show off his pet, but now… now, things were tricky enough, and it gave him a sense of possessive peace to know that her fair skin was only for him to peruse. 

The girl shivered at his touch and closed her eyes for a moment, apparently attempting to regain her train of thought. “May I complete my  _ actual _ task now?” she asked. “Sire?”

Loki laughed at the forced bossiness in her tone. “You may, my lady. You may.”

 

* * *

 

It did not take long for Aelia to finish her work in the dusty storeroom, and Loki was perfectly content to stand guard and watch her as she bustled about, though he did deign to lift a few heavy boxes for her when he saw her struggling. He decided that this was only fair, as he did  _ so _ enjoy watching her struggle; in fact, watching her hips sway as she bent over to search through trunk after trunk gave him some rather pleasant daydream fodder. 

Tempting as it was to just take her then, she was a maiden, and Loki felt that it would be a bit cruel for her first time to be a quick rut in an unpleasant, musty outbuilding. It certainly did not seem like the sort of thing that one would find in a romantic ballad, and he had already decided that he wanted to woo her, at least within  _ reason; _ as pretty and intriguing as she was, she was just a mortal pet, not a goddess. He needed to remember that. 

“We can go now, my  _ prince,” _ Aelia said suddenly, dusting of her hands and turning towards him with a bit of a sour expression. He knew she rankled under his silent scrutiny, and despite her attitude, he smiled. For the moment, he did not care that she used his title sarcastically; she would speak it with nothing but reverence, eventually. 

“Where are we off to now, mistress?”

“I should see whether or not Lavinia was able to wrest money away from Caecilius, the head servant,” she told him. “If she was not, I shall have to deal with him myself.”

They stepped back into the sunlight, a stark contrast to the darkness of the room, although the day was overcast. “Is it truly so difficult for the lady of the house to get her hands on money?” Loki asked, slightly incredulous.

“Yes.” She gave him a searching look out of the corner of her eye, as if she could not understand why this would confuse him. “I have told you before, and you have seen with your own eyes that I have very little status in this household. The only money I had managed to hide away, I used to purchase that charm.” She nodded at the little bead Loki still wore wrapped around his wrist.

“What a waste,” Loki remarked. “It did not last very long.”

“It likely saved my life,” his mortal retorted, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. He supposed that she wanted to try to hide the fact that she was chatting with a slave. “I am certain that you would have killed me on more than one occasion, had I not been wearing it.”

Well, he had to confess that there was some grain of truth to that. “I likely would have hurt you,” he admitted, for the thought of killing her now made him feel a twinge of conscience. “But it would have been a waste to kill you, pretty little Midgardian that you are.”

Her steps suddenly halted, and the girl turned to regard him with a look of confused irritation. “Do you mean that as a  _ compliment?” _ she asked.

Loki frowned. He  _ had,  _ but he supposed that was not how she chose to take it. “Yes,” he said. “I would have avoided killing you, if possible.” It was certainly not the most silver-tongued thing he had ever said, and he chastised himself.

Aelia resumed walking, and he stayed close beside her. “And now?” she asked quietly, almost as if she feared the answer.

“Now, Lady Lia, you are  _ mine, _ and I will do with you as I please. When I told you that no man could touch you, I meant it. Seeing you harmed now would not please me.”

“Even if it is by your hand?” She tried to sound flippant, but there was a noticeable undercurrent of anxiety in her voice. 

He smirked. “Well, that is another matter entirely, darling. If you provoke me, then it is well within my right to punish you.”

“Your  _ right,” _ she muttered. 

“Yes. My  _ right _ as a prince, as a god, and as your master.”

The girl did not reply, but Loki was amused to see her lips thin into a tight frown.  _ “I will not call you master, Loki of Asgard,” _ she had so boldly declared.  _ Yes, _ he thought. _ Yes, you will. You are so close already. _

They found the maid in the hallway near the kitchens, and though she said nothing to him, the glare she gave him could have melted stone. He was quickly growing used to it, and he found that it did not bother him, not as it once had. Still, he had a presence to maintain, and he kept a stern frown plastered on his face. 

“Caecilius was actually persuaded to part with a reasonable sum, my lady,” the woman informed Aelia, turning to pointedly ignore Loki’s presence. “I placed it in your chambers. Knowing him, he will likely come looking for the remainder, so I suggest that you spend it all in the marketplace tomorrow.”

His mortal chuckled, but Loki’s frown became genuine, feeling practically  _ offended _ on her behalf; it was pathetic, really, that a lady in such an obviously wealthy household had to scrounge around for scraps.  _ Although… _ perhaps it had worked to his advantage. More wealth, and little Aelia might have been able to acquire something much more potent than the weak warding charm he now wore. 

Should he give her an allowance, he suddenly wondered, once they were on Asgard? Did a mortal pet merit such a thing? He knew that many lords gave their mistresses an allowance of spending money, but Loki had never had a mistress, and in any case, that would not be the little mortal’s role. In fact, he realized wryly, even if he  _ did _ give her money, where would she spend it? It wasn’t as if a mortal roaming about the Realm Eternal would garner no attention.

“Come along, Loki,” she said, giving him a curious look, and Loki blinked, returning to the present. The maid had already begun to walk away, and he had managed to miss the entirety of their conversation as he pondered the intricacies of his mortal’s fate on Asgard.

“Where are we going?” he asked, expression aloof.  _ Why would I bother to pay attention to their pointless little conversations, anyhow?  _ he thought. 

With a look of slight exasperation, Aelia turned and headed back the way they had come. “The library,” she replied. “My uncle and the prince are busy with their plotting today, it seems, so I fully intend to remain out of the way and undisturbed for as long as possible. We will take our midday meal there.”

“Another picnic, Lady Aelia?”

She snorted in displeasure at the laughter in his voice. “Yes,  _ my prince, _ what you call a ‘picnic.’ Do  _ try _ not to fall into a murderous rage this time, I implore you.”

The God of Lies smirked. “Of course not, my lady. I swear it.”

 

* * *

 

Aelia had been beyond relieved when Otho and Prince Basileus called for the evening meal to be delivered to her uncle’s study; while she still had to oversee dinner with their other guests in the dining hall, the experience was far less nerve-wracking with the two men with the most influence over her life absent.  _ Well,  _ she corrected herself, almost without thinking,  _ the two  _ mortal _ men with the most influence.  _ Loki’s influence over her life was undeniable, although she could not begin to imagine the ways in which he would ultimately shape the course of her life. Her short, mortal life - the thought caused her heart to twinge painfully. 

Their  _ picnic, _ as the god liked to call it, had been rather pleasant. There were no interruptions, no dramatic outbursts. Moments like these, where they almost seemed like equals, were few and far-between, and Aelia was learning to treasure every single one. 

In a rare display of openness, Loki had regaled her with tales of ships from his world, ships that sailed not only on the water, but also through the sky. Closing her eyes, Aelia could almost envision it, could almost  _ feel _ the wind whipping through her hair as she soared through the air, the sea far below, the stars sparkling overhead. 

“The Realm Eternal is surrounded by the Sea of Space,” he’d told her. “Beyond the water, there is the Void.”

“What is in the Void?” Aelia had asked, curious about such a grimly-named place.

He laughed. “Nothingness, of course. Nothing apart from an  _ eternity _ of nothingness.”

“It sounds fearsome.”

“It is, little one. But there are many safe ways to navigate Yggdrasil, most of which I am well-acquainted with; it is easy enough to avoid such places.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Yggdrasil?”

For a few moments, Loki had simply studied her with a calculating expression, and Aelia feared that he had decided that he had told her too much, that he would regret sharing anything of his home world with her. “Yggdrasil,” he said finally, “is the World Tree, from which the Nine Realms branch.”

_ “Nine?” _ she exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Loki huffed, rolling his eyes in an unconvincingly overt display of irritation. “Fetch me paper and ink, girl. I will draw it for you.”

 

* * *

 

The parchment with the god’s depiction of this… this  _ Yggdrasil _ had been safely tucked away in her tunic. Once she had returned to her chambers for the evening, Aelia lay on her back, holding the drawing above her head as she studied it by the flickering candlelight, trying to process the notion of the nine interconnected realms, with even more worlds out there  _ somewhere, _ far beyond the stars. 

Heaving a sigh, she clasped the drawing to her chest. It was a beautiful gift, she thought; not the paper itself, per se, but the  _ knowledge _ that he had shared with her. Somewhere, far, far away, there were other worlds, with amazing, astonishing things that Aelia could barely begin to imagine. Somewhere out there, there was more than  _ this, _ more than her uncle’s villa, more than Rome, more than even the very earth itself, and the thought was strangely comforting. 

She rose from her bed, ignoring the chill as she pushed open the heavy wooden shutters on her window, craning her neck to look up to the night sky.  _ Asgard is out there, somewhere, _ she thought.  _ Loki will return there, soon. _ Her sense of comfort suddenly disappeared, something like frustration taking its place. 

Pulling the shutters closed again, she retreated to the warmth of her bed, hiding her newest treasure away under her matress. In her dreams, she stood beside the God of Lies, looking down at the world she knew from a sky filled with radiant light. 

 

* * *

 

The morning of the marketplace visit had been chaotic, to say the least. It seemed that everyone who was anyone in Boreacastra was eager to accompany the visiting prince as he toured the town, and Aelia ended up with the responsibility of overseeing the entire mess.

Loki had appeared outside of her door at the crack of dawn, and though she was a bit surprised, it was a relief to see that her orders to unlock his cell every day were being followed. He appeared to be in a stoic mood this morning, a slightly-bored expression on his handsome face. This, too, was something of a relief; she had enough to fret over without Loki being in one of his confrontational, teasing moods.

The purse full of money was safely entrusted to Lavinia; it would not be proper for her to carry it around herself, for some reason. “Only the poor carry their own money, Sabina,” Drucilla had drawled once, acting as if the idea of actually doing anything for herself was appalling. Aelia found the entire concept foolish. She would gladly trade any of the prestige of her position for a chance to simply do things for  _ herself,  _ to do things that she actually  _ wanted _ to do.

It had grown colder overnight, though the sun shone brightly, and almost everyone in the group was fairly bundled up. Loki, for his part, had the sun brooch firmly fastened to his cloak, and though he did nothing to draw her attention to it this time, she knew that it was a message intended for her alone. He managed to look so regal, she thought absently, waiting for their carriages to arrive, even dressed as he was now. She would have liked to have seen him in his rightful place, just once - a resplendent god in a gleaming palace of gold. Such things were difficult to imagine.

The god’s jaw tightened fractionally, and Aelia realized belatedly that she had been caught deep in thought by Basileus Maximus, who now stood by her side, just a hairsbreadth closer than what would typically be considered polite. “You appear to be pondering something of great import, Lady Aelia,” he said, tone as bland and friendly as ever.

“I would not say that, Your Highness,” she replied, forcing a laugh. “I was actually considering the merit of trousers and boots in this frigid weather. In fact, I believe that I would wear them myself, if I could.” It was a scandalous thing to say, she knew, but Otho had said that the prince was intrigued by her oddity, so perhaps it would work in her favor. 

“They  _ are _ quite useful. It is how we shall dress on our campaign northward. Perhaps you should have been a soldier, Lady.”

“I am certain that I would prove to be a significant liability on the battlefield, sire.”

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten your aversion to gore. What do  _ you _ think, barbarian?” he asked suddenly, looking to Loki with a glittering smile. “You seem well-versed in such things. How do you suppose your mistress would fare in battle?” 

There was a tiny flicker of rage in the god’s eyes, and Aelia’s heart pounded as she realized that there was some subtext to the question, some test that she did not understand. He waited a few moments too long to reply, a transgression that would have earned many slaves a reprimand. “Is it not my  _ task,  _ now, to see that such a situation never arises?”

“An excellent point,” Basileus conceded, seemingly unfazed by the slave’s disinterested tone. 

Aelia felt relief wash over her as their transportation arrived, and she placed a gentle hand on the prince’s arm, eager to break the tension brewing between the two men. “Our chariot awaits, Your Highness,” she joked lightly. “Are you ready to see all that our bustling little town has to offer?”

“Indeed I am, my lady. Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

Loki hated this place, crawling with mortals and reeking in a most unpleasant manner. Even the poorest, most crowded marketplaces in Asgard were much finer than  _ this.  _ His nose wrinkled in disdain. He studied the twists and turns of the streets as they walked, a bit baffled by the haphazard way some of the buildings appeared to have additional levels simply piled on top of the original structures. The entire place seemed to be a tremendous fire hazard. 

Their entire group was the object of every commoner’s attention, but Loki was amused to find that he received almost as many stares and whispers as their mortal prince. Others might have been unsettled by such a thing, but Loki relished it; he was a prince of Asgard, and he was used to having all eyes on him. 

He trailed just behind his little mistress, cutting an intimidating figure as he towered over the nearby nobles. She  _ seemed _ happy enough, or pleasantly distracted by the wares on display, at the very least. They halted for a moment at as Aelia stopped to examine a roll of darkly-dyed fabric, running her fingers down the finely-woven cotton. She leaned and whispered something to her handmaiden before continuing along her way, leaving the woman behind to make the purchase. 

Aelia never stopped in one place for very long, flitting from stall to stall, always smiling, always entertaining. The things that she stopped to buy, for the most part, were practical - a heavy wool cloak here, a sheaf of parchment there. He noticed that, while she admired the wares of the jewelers and traders of exotic goods alongside the other giggling ladies, she made no move to purchase any of them; it seemed a shame, and the daydream of her decked out in nothing but golden chains returned suddenly to his mind. 

The appearance of the senator tore him away from more happy imaginings, and Loki felt himself instantly go on high alert, an instinctual response for which he could not entirely identify the source. The man seemed tense, fidgeting.  _ Guilty,  _ Loki realized. He was likely plotting to disrupt the possibility of Aelia’s betrothal to the mortal prince. Well, it was all the same to him, really; no matter who ended up as her betrothed, the girl would be leaving Midgard with Loki far before anything actually came of the arrangement. 

“Your Highness,” the older man simpered, bowing slightly. “What a lovely escort accompanies you today!” Most of the ladies in the party tittered and basked in the attention, but Aelia’s smile was taut, strained.  _ She feels it, too, _ Loki thought.  _ She feels his tension. _ It was easy to forget how perceptive she was, for a mortal.

“I have yet to extend an invitation for you to visit my humble home, sire.”

Basileus’s expression was calm, flat. “That is fine, Marcus,” he replied, a slight hint of a smile on his lips. “I have hardly been here any time at all, and my kind hostess has been keeping me  _ excellently _ entertained, as you can see.”

“Would you care to join me for a small luncheon the day after next?” he asked, quickly adding, “You ladies are all invited as well, of course.”

“Otho and I will be spending the evening prior at the main military encampment outside the city,” Basileus replied. “But we could come directly to your villa from there, I suppose, if you do not mind the smell of soldiers invading your home.”

“Excellent, sire,” the senator replied, laughing dutifully at the jest. “And you, Sabina?”

“I shall have to ask my uncle, of course,” she said sweetly, “although I am certain that he will not object.”

“Marvelous.” The senator smiled, then turned his attention to the other women present, particularly, Loki noticed, the dark-haired woman that his mortal detested so strongly. Eyes narrowing, the god examined the old politician, wondering what he could possibly be planning. Perhaps he simply sought to quickly marry another wealthy woman from the area, to show Otho that he had other valuable allies. 

Aelia and the mortal prince moved on before long, and Loki followed, arms crossed and expression haughty. This entire ordeal was quickly becoming more tiresome than he had anticipated.

 

* * *

 

They were alone, after hours upon hours trapped in the whirlwind that was Basileus’s entourage, and Aelia finally felt as though she could breathe freely again. She retreated to her chamber, glancing down the hallway suspiciously as she opened the door. “Is anyone coming?” she whispered, hoping that his otherworldly senses would warn him to any potential spies. 

“No enemy scouts en-route at the moment, General,” Loki replied, eyes twinkling with a hint of laughter.

Choosing to ignore his teasing, Aelia darted inside, closing and bolting the heavy door with haste as soon as he slipped in behind her. She heaved a sigh, rubbing her aching head. “That went… well,” she declared, slightly surprised that things had remained peaceful, despite a few tense moments scattered throughout the day. 

Frowning disdainfully, Loki walked to her bed and sat, acting, as always, as if he owned the place. “It was miserable,” he said. “I would much prefer the arena.” Then he patted his knee, adding, “Come here.”

Really, Aelia felt no inclination to disobey; she was tired, and the memories of falling into a peaceful sleep at his side overrode any objections she may have had.  _ Will he allow that again? _ she wondered, perching herself carefully on his thigh. 

“Good girl,” he praised, smoothing a hand through her hair, though Aelia could hear the hint of sarcasm in his tone. “So  _ compliant.” _ She could not suppress her blush, despite her desire to deny him the reaction that she knew he craved. “Here,” he continued, reaching into a fold in his tunic and extending his palm. “Your reward.”

Aelia blinked in consternation at the sudden appearance of two gleaming, golden arm-bands, coiled serpents with sparkling emerald eyes. “Where did you get those?”

“Where did you get those,  _ sire?”  _ he corrected. “I saw them in the marketplace. I quite like them, despite their  _ obviously _ inferior Midgardian quality. The design reminds me of myself.” He smirked, and for just a fraction of a moment, Aelia might have sworn that she saw the serpents move. “Naturally, I took them.”

“You stole them.” Her heart raced; what if he had been caught in the act? How would she have been able to intervene?

“I did.” Loki grinned, remorseless. “I am the God of Mischief, little Aelia. Thievery is one of my  _ many _ talents.” She frowned at him, and his smile faded slightly, his expression turning a bit more stern. “I do expect you to wear them, mortal.”

Aelia reached forward, then suddenly hesitated, her logical side cautioning her to be a bit more suspicious of such a gift. “Did you use your magic on them?” she asked, her hand hovering just over his. “Will they burn me, like my charm did to you?”

“No, but that would have been an excellent idea. Perhaps your spirit is more vengeful than you realize.”

_ “Or,” _ she rebutted, “I simply know to show caution when presented with an extravagant gift by the God of  _ Lies.” _

“They are ornamental only,” Loki swore, managing to sound convincingly sincere. “Trust me.”

She did not have much of a choice, she supposed. The gleaming-eyed serpents  _ did _ remind her of him, as well, though she hated to admit that she was touched by a gift of stolen goods. Picking them up carefully, one at a time, she slid the bands to her upper arms, startled by how well they fit. Loki looked entirely too pleased, and it earned him a glare. “You wish to mark me,” she accused, “in a more… public manner.”

“Yes. How  _ kind _ of me,” he remarked casually, “to not simply cover the entirety of your body in extremely obvious love-bites. Consider, if you will, my  _ benevolence.”  _

He had a point, and her blush heightened to scarlet at the thought. At least this display of possession was subtle; no one else would know. “Thank you, sire,” she murmured, and for a while, Loki did not reply. Aelia leaned into him slightly, enjoying the scent of him, dearly wishing that he would hold her as he had before, that he would  _ stay. _ She felt that it would be dangerous to ask. 

“You are weary,” Loki announced, almost as if he had only just remembered that Midgardians required more frequent rest. He pulled her to her feet as he stood, pushing the blankets back on her bed. “Go on,” he prodded, and Aelia climbed in with her day clothes still on, afraid of what might happen if she changed in front of him. The candles in the room suddenly blinked out, and her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. “I am staying,” he added, and she heard the rustle as clothing dropped to the floor, followed only moments later by a dip in the bed and the solid frame of the god wrapping himself around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Aelia wants to cuddle and Loki shows that he does, in fact, have a bit of a considerate side <3


	23. XXIII

Loki had crept away from her bed sometime in the night, although Aelia had slept soundly through it. He had coaxed her out of her stola, not long after he had joined her under the covers, and Aelia had been terrified that this was it, that the moment had come when the god’s patience wore too thin - terrified, yet filled with a sense of _wanting,_ a feeling of need that she’d never experienced so intensely before meeting the God of Lies. It was a great relief, then, and perhaps also a slight disappointment, when he contented himself with simple kisses and caresses before pulling her back to his chest, holding her tightly.

That night, she had dreamed of a beautiful orchard, filled with massive trees that were obviously more ancient than any on earth. Though his form was vague and cloudy, Loki stood there, Aelia knew it with certainty, and she could faintly make out the form of a woman at his side. _A goddess,_ she realized, straining to see more clearly, though she found that she could not move. She heard him laugh, and if she had any doubts as to the identity of the man currently occupying her dream, the distinctive sound banished them. Her name rang out in his voice, and then the dream faded. Aelia would not remember it in the morning.

Otho had been in a relatively good mood that morning, likely because the prince seemed to be pleased with the state of the town under his command, and Aelia had found his presence during breakfast almost bearable. “Prince Basileus informed me that you have an invitation to dine with Marcus Juvenus and some of the other patricians at his villa tomorrow,” he told her. “His Highness and I will be leaving shortly to stay the night at the encampment, so I trust that you will be capable of finding your way there on your own.”

“Of course, Uncle.” It was a relief, truly, for it meant less time spent in his presence.

“One of the small carriages should do.”

She nodded politely and continued to pick at her food. A small carriage would suit her just fine; she hated being carried in a litter, and she had no desire to travel with a large party, especially after the hustle and bustle of the past few days. In fact, she would have been quite happy to walk, but the senator’s villa lay slightly apart from the town proper, at the end of a long, meandering path through the sparsely-wooded forest at the town’s northern border.

“Do not fret, Lady Aelia,” Basileus said, slate-grey eyes fixed on her, and she wondered if he had mistaken her quiet acceptance as apprehension. “I am certain that we will already be there when you arrive.”

“I shall look forward to it, sire.”

 

* * *

 

Once Otho left with Basileus and most of his military men, the villa returned to a state of semi-normalcy, though Aelia knew it would not last long.  She noticed Drusus lingering in the hallways, and she wilted in disappointment, realizing that her uncle had no need to be subtle about his monitoring while the prince was gone.

“I wish to be alone for a time,” she told the god at her heels, turning to face him so suddenly that they almost collided. There was a certain hardness in his eyes, and she nearly balked as she stared up at him; it was easy to forget, at times, how intimidating his very presence could be.

“You are still under the impression that you can dismiss me so easily?”

“No, but I am very tired, Loki. _Prince_ Loki,” she corrected, hoping to win his good graces. “It will not be for the entire day.”

He frowned. “I am being sent to my cell, then, mistress?”

“Of course not. Go run about the training grounds, visit the library, take a long bath…”

“Why not join me?” Loki cut in quickly.

“Perhaps later,” she replied without thinking, realizing her misstep at once as a wicked grin lit up the god’s face. “Your old guards appear to be prowling about,” she continued, determined to ignore his look of delight. “I would think it wise to exercise caution.”

“I noticed. Very well, Lady Lia,” he conceded, releasing a deep breath as he straightened to his full height. Aelia hadn’t even realized that he had been stooping slightly in the first place. _Are all gods this tall?_ she wondered briefly. “I will allow it.”

 _How gracious of you,_ Aelia thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I will be in my chamber,” she told him. “Come and find me around noon, and we shall dine together.”

Loki strolled away without further comment, clearly intending to show her that _she_ was the one being dismissed, and Aelia shook her head at his moodiness, making her way back to her room. Most of the servants seemed to be using today as something of a rest day, and she had no intention of adding to their stress. She knew how worrisome it was, playing host to the second-most important man in the empire.

When she reached her chamber, Aelia pulled out her embroidery basket and opened her trunk, retrieving the nearly-black fabric she’d had Lavinia purchase in the marketplace. Golden thread, she decided, would have the desired effect. How had he described them, the flowers from the mountains of Asgard? _Five small, golden petals,_ she recalled him saying. She rarely made things for others, and she desperately hoped that he would be pleased with the final result.  

 

* * *

 

Loki decided to run around the training yard to keep himself busy, although he held himself back from his true speed, certain that it would raise questions if anyone noticed. The morning air was crisp, and he craved snow. He had always enjoyed the icy rush of winter, and he suddenly found himself remembering the last time he had gone sledding with his brother and their friends. Obviously, Loki had griped and complained about the childishness of it all, but he ultimately had been unable to refuse. How long ago had that been? Seven years? Eight, perhaps?  

The jog itself was not very satisfying, although it did give him the opportunity to stretch his muscles and clear his thoughts. He tried to push against the bindings holding back his seiðr, testing for weaknesses, but the effort left him tired, a slight choking sensation taking hold, prompting him to yank at the golden collar around his neck in frustration. It was getting better, he knew, but he was more eager to leave Midgard than ever before. Loki was ready to go home, mortal pet in tow. She would enjoy sledding; he was certain of it.

He finally returned to the villa, barricading himself in the bathing chamber for an incredibly long soak. If anyone else had been hoping to use it this morning, they would be sorely out of luck, because he was in no mood to be generous. Closing his eyes, he floated aimlessly, thinking about his spacious chambers in the palace, the flock of servants ready to tend to his every demand. At least this bizzare Midgardian adventure would make a good tale for the skalds, he thought, a bit morose.

Then, his mind turned to the hunting cabin in the mountains. Though much more rustic than the palace, it was quite well-furnished; the girl would have everything she could possibly need, and he was certain that he would visit often. Of course, when they first returned, he would have to stay in the palace for some time to sort out the plot that had left him stranded here in the first place, but he knew that he would be able to sneak away easily enough. He would have to become more conscious of the passing of time, he realized. What he considered a ‘short stay’ in the capital city would probably seem like an eternity to a mortal.

Loki’s injuries from the arena had already healed significantly, despite his determination to use no seiðr, and he was immensely cheered to see it. Even if his powers were still suppressed, his body had nearly returned to normal, and that alone gave him a tremendous advantage over the mortals. Digging through the pile of discarded clothes by the pool, Loki retrieved the penknife he’d stolen, contemplating it for a moment. There was no reason not to test himself, he decided, and he slammed the blade into his open palm.

The thin metal bent upon impact, and Loki laughed, tossing it aside to repair later; it may not be useful against _him,_ but he was sure that the little blade could kill a Midgardian easily enough. An actual weapon, he knew, would likely still cause him some damage, but this was an _excellent_ sign of progress. For now, it was enough to satisfy him.

He got dressed again, taking a few moments to bend the blade back into a reasonable shape, then decided to take a stroll around the villa, curious to see if anyone bothered to stop him. The kitchen garden was his first stop, and he thought back on the times he had spent there with his mortal as she struggled to come to terms with the reality that she had, in fact, been saddled with the responsibility of overseeing an irate god. When was it, exactly, that he had decided to keep her? He’d certainly felt no qualms over the idea of killing her in the beginning. When had he decided that she was his? Loki could not remember.

It had been, by his reckoning, around three weeks since he had arrived here, putting his total time in captivity at nearly two months. Normally, it would have seemed like the blink of an eye, but now… now every day seemed to count, crawling by with a painful slowness. _Two months on Midgard,_ he thought, lip turning up in a sneer. _Two months already, and she wants me to wait a few more weeks still._ Three months, he decided, and he was done; that would be his limit, and he would wait no longer.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Loki had begun to consider the possibility that something had gone terribly wrong on his home realm; it was worrying that he had gone so long without contact, especially considering how his mother usually fretted over him. And Thor, foolish as he often was, would not simply _abandon_ him like this, would he? It did not seem likely, and he tried to resign himself to the idea that there may be no forthcoming rescue. Loki may very well be on his own

He next wandered down a hallway that seemed to hold nothing more exciting than sleeping chambers, located not far from Otho’s study. The study was where he truly craved to explore, but he spied the short guard hovering around the entrance to the hall in a pathetic attempt of stealth, so Loki decided to keep moving, frowning in irritation. If he had to deal with the presence of any of Otho’s soldiers, he would much prefer someone like the boy Caius, someone he did not already want to kill.

For a bit longer, he continued to aimlessly stroll about the villa, drawing looks from passing slaves and servants that ranged from wary to fascinated. Loki quickly grew bored, and he eventually decided that it was close enough to noon. His feet led him back to Aelia’s chamber easily enough, and he barged in with the sort of confident ease that only a royal could muster, not even bothering to knock.

“You are early!” she exclaimed, shoving her embroidery into its basket and packing it away in her trunk.

“On the contrary, mortal. Whenever I decide to arrive is, in effect, precisely the right time.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You are terribly spoiled, you know. I begin to think that all men with any modicum of power are inherently insufferable.”

“Is that so? You _suffered_ me well enough in that old storage shed yesterday morning, as I recall, and then again last night in your bed. Your tolerance is _truly_ astonishing.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and Loki was surprised by how fierce her expression became. She despised being reminded of how badly she wanted him, he noted with amusement, how easily she fell under his influence at even the slightest touch. Laughing, he bolted the door and sauntered over to where she stood, long legs quickly bringing him within range. “Are you looking for a fight, little one? I would be more than happy to oblige you.”

“No.”

“No? But you seem so _tense,_ so on-edge. I am certain that you would enjoy the release.” The girl was trying to ignore him, he knew, struggling to maintain that carefully-practiced poise of hers. “Go ahead,” he whispered, raising a hand. “Strike me.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“Hit me, mortal. Throw your hardest punch.” Loki did _so_ love unsettling her, and it was with a grin that he added, “Entertain my curiosity.”

He could see her mind working as she studied the target of his hand, her clenched fist tightening ever-so-slightly. Would she do it? She had to now, really; he had ordered it, and his curiosity was truly piqued. Would he even feel it, if she did?

Suddenly, a determined glint appeared in her eyes, and Loki hissed in surprise as her bare foot slammed into his ankle. If he had been a mortal man, he had no doubt that it would have been fairly painful, and he was actually a bit proud that she had attempted to cheat.

Wincing in pain, Aelia sat down heavily upon her bed. “That _hurt,”_ she cried.

“I am not surprised. That little display of impulsivity likely broke your toe.”

“You told me to!”

“I did no such thing,” Loki retorted, crouching beside her. “I told you to strike my _hand._ It would have been easier to soften the blow.”

“If you say so, _Your Highness.”_

“Stop acting so petulant, child.” He lifted her foot, examining her toes critically. “Does this hurt?” he asked with false sweetness, giving her second toe a squeeze. Aelia bit her lip, eyes tearing up. “I shall take that as a ‘yes,’ then.”

“Yes,” she breathed, grimacing. “Quite a lot, in fact.”

He should leave it that way, really; the girl had certainly earned it, putting on such a show of defiance. Still, as he cradled her delicate food in his hand, he could not entirely ignore that annoying urge to help. _Loki, Healer of Mortals,_ he thought with irritation, rolling his eyes as he let power trickle through the barrier. Mother would be so proud.

“It feels like cold water.”

“Interesting. I typically only use healing seiðr on myself, so I have little frame of reference. If I had free reign of my powers, this would take only a heartbeat, and I doubt that you would even have time to notice the sensation.”

“What else can this seiðr of yours do?” she asked, curiosity clearly overriding any lingering pain.

“In regards to healing?”

“Yes, and everything else, I suppose. I still do not understand it.”

Loki doubted that she would ever _truly_ understand it, but now that he intended to bring her to a world filled with gods and magic, he decided that there was no harm in telling her more about it.

“A skilled healer, such as my mother or the goddess Eir, could easily stave off near-fatal injuries, or bring one back from the brink of death itself. I only ever cared to learn enough to tide me over if I became injured in battle. Healing others is much more complicated, although I find that surface wounds are not terribly difficult, no matter the patient. Curing disease, in my opinion, is far more complex.”

“And aside from healing?”

“Oh, nothing _too_ extraordinary,” he laughed, putting pressure on her formerly-broken bone, pleased when she did not react in pain. “Conjuring, shape-shifting, fires, plagues… my teleportation is, admittedly, a bit rusty.”

A sharp, shaky breath caught his attention, and he peered up at the girl’s pale face. “I cannot… I cannot comprehend it. Even with _this,”_ she said, gesturing helplessly at her mended foot, “even with everything else that I have seen you do, I cannot imagine the things that you describe.”

“Does this bother you?”

“It does.”

“Why is that?” He realized belatedly that he had begun to caress her ankle, and he moved to the bed, sprawling on his back beside where she sat.

“Knowing things is important to me, and I do not enjoy feeling so… lost.”

“It will be easier, in time. I will show you the things that you cannot imagine, and then you will begin to understand.” At least, he hoped that was the case. _Could_ she handle the shock of being thrust into such a different world?

“Thank you,” she said, leaning over to bestow a shy kiss on his cheek, startling Loki so badly that he did not even respond.

 

* * *

 

Other than breaking her toe and having it healed by her divine slave-prince, the rest of Aelia’s day had been remarkably uneventful. She had not dared to ask the god to stay with again that night, not with the guards keeping such a close watch in her uncle’s absence, and he had done nothing to make her think that he desired otherwise. In fact, Loki had spent the entire day in a strange mood, especially after she’d kicked him. His reaction had surprised her, and she suspected that he had surprised himself, as well.

She awoke the next morning with a dawning sense of apprehension. Visiting the villas of the other patricians was nightmarish for her, and she was especially concerned about the awkward tension that was sure to arise between the senator and the prince, both of whom her uncle had tempted with the prospect of marrying her for a political alliance. Aelia knew that she would be trapped in the middle, no escape in sight. _As always._

Lavinia did not appear as early as usual, and Aelia decided to go find her. The God of Lies was waiting in the already hall, a bored expression on his face, as if he’d been there for quite some time. Did he ever sleep? His expression remained impassive when she asked him to wait for just a moment, and she was reminded, yet again, of the beautiful marble statues that decorated the temples.

There was only a faint, unintelligible response when she knocked on the maid’s door, so Aelia let herself inside. Lavinia sat on the edge of her small bed, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, head cradled in her hands. Her head shot up when she heard the door open, looking terribly embarrassed. “Is everything alright?” Aelia asked, suddenly worried.

“I apologize, my lady,” Lavinia replied, voice hoarse. “I do not feel well. I will be up momentarily.”

“No, Lavinia, stay and rest. I am more than capable of dressing myself, and I say this with care, but you look dreadful.”

The maid chuckled, but it quickly turned into a cough. “It is likely from the weather. I will be fine to accompany you.”

“You will do no such thing. Go back to bed.” She could see the protest forming on her friend’s lips, so she added, “That is an order.”

“Yes, my lady,” Lavinia groaned, crawling back under the covers.

She closed the door gently as she left, trying not to make much noise, and she noticed that Loki was watching her with a quizzical expression. “Lavinia is ill,” she told him.

His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Do not expect for me to _heal_ her.”

“I am sure that she will be fine,” she said, trying to reassure herself. Illness always made nervous, especially because the town’s premier physician’s cure for everything seemed to be bloodletting.

Loki muttered something under his breath, but she did not bother to ask him what it was. Whatever he had to say, she could only assume she would not approve of it.

She sent a servant to fetch one of the other maids to help her make her hair presentable. “And take a message to the soldier Caius afterwards,” she added. “I want one of the small covered carriages ready for our trip to Senator Juvenus’s estate within the next two hours, and I would like for him to select an escort.”

“At once, my lady.”

Amusement glimmered in Loki’s green eyes as the servant disappeared around the corner. _“I_ could help you with your hair, Lady Lia. As a matter of fact, I could dress you, as well.”

“We both know that you have no interest in _dressing_ me, Loki,” she replied with snark, happy that the very public hallways allowed her the freedom to use his given name. He could not retaliate, not out in the open; at least, she hoped that he would not dare.

Fortunately, the god simply smirked. _Of course,_ she thought. _I will pay for that later._ Loki, as unpredictable as he may seem, had certain proclivities that Aelia begun to take note of, not the least of which was his fondness for provocation. Goading her into a reaction delighted him, even despite his vehement declarations that a mortal had no right to talk back to a god. It was just another game to him, really; that was all this was. She knew that it was important to remember that.

“I will meet you out front when I am ready,” Aelia said, deciding to act aloof to mask the fact that her heart ached at the thought that he would leave, forgetting her easily as he moved on to his next entertainment. “You may do as you wish until then.”

He knew, somehow; she could see it in the the way he looked at her, curious and calculating. Though he may not know what it was, exactly, he always seemed to be able to tell when she was _feeling_ something, and it clearly intrigued him. “I believe I shall raid the kitchens, then,” he replied, stooping into a mockingly deep bow as he added, “...mistress.”

Aelia watched as his long strides quickly carried him out of sight, cursing his smooth, teasing voice and the words that he chose so carefully to torment her. He made everything sound so… sinful. She hated it, even as much as she thrilled at the way the things he said seemed to brush across her skin, caressing her, drawing her closer and closer to the flame. How ironic, really, that out of all of the gods, she would end up in thrall to one who would lead her down the path of iniquity.

It was nice, in a way, having moments entirely by herself, though she immediately felt guilty at the thought; normally Lavinia would accompany her, and it seemed wrong to take any enjoyment from her friend’s illness. She stayed in the bath for far longer than necessary, reluctant to leave the warmth and the privacy. Holding her foot out of the water, she prodded at her miraculously-healed toe, flooded with embarrassment at the memory of kicking Loki with all of her strength; she did not know why she’d even bothered, after seeing how indestructible he was in the arena.

She washed her hair quickly, eager to have it dry as soon as possible, then scrubbed away at her pale skin until she was pink and glowing. Studying her reflection in the rippling water as she sat on the edge of the pool and combed her fingers through her wet hair, Aelia wondered, not for the first time, what the goddesses of Asgard looked like. They were certain to be spectacular, if Loki’s own appearance was anything to go by, and she thought of the statues and paintings she had seen of Venus, of Diana. It was doubtful that she could compare.

Another maid was waiting outside her door when she returned to her chamber, a girl named Prisca. She was a quiet and diligent sort, and she quickly twisted a few braids into Aelia’s still-damp hair, pulling them back into an elegant, simple half-knot. _That will do,_ she thought, feeling that it was all just a wasted effort; she did not care what the patricians thought of her looks, not really. It was all just a pointless show.

The dress she chose was one that she’d last worn shortly after Loki had arrived, and he had seemed to find it appealing - a clean, fresh white, with her own embroidered leaves as embellishments. She was curious to see if he would remember it, if he would react. Curious, too, to see if he would show any approval at the stolen bracelets she slid up her arms. Perhaps it would earn her a kiss.

 

* * *

 

Aelia was unused to travelling without a maid, but she did not wish to trouble anyone else to accompany her. Even though they would have had no choice but to obey, she knew the household staff was likely just as eager for a respite as she was, and it seemed rather unnecessary. Loki, a carriage driver, and a handful of guards already seemed like quite a bother, especially just for a luncheon that she did not wish to attend in the first place.

“You will ride in the carriage with me,” she ordered, and though Loki’s face registered amusement, he nodded obediently. “Are eight soldiers truly necessary, Caius?” she asked next, turning towards the dark-eyed boy with a sigh.

“Master’s orders, Lady Aelia,” he replied. “All sorts of vagabonds follow the military camps, especially with royalty around.”

 _I suppose Otho has even more to lose, now that Prince Basileus has ‘shown interest,’_ she thought mutinously, climbing into the small, boxy carriage that barely fit two people. But it was not the soldier’s fault, she knew, and she did not wish to irritate one of the only people in the world who she might consider a friend. “You do not have to come along, Caius. You may have the day off, if you wish.”

Cocking his head, the soldier regarded her for a moment, a slightly frustrated look in his eyes. “I believe that I do, my lady.” His expression cleared quickly. “Now hop in, Asgardian,” he said with a laugh, “and let us be off.”

Being in the carriage felt a bit like being in a tomb, Aelia thought, the small, covered windows barely allowing any light inside. It certainly had not been built to comfortably accommodate someone with Loki’s tall frame. “How long will it take to reach our destination?” he asked her, clearly uncomfortable.

“It should be around two hours.”

The god groaned. “I would much prefer to walk.”

“As would I,” she retorted, “yet here we are.”

“You would have me suffer with you, girl?”

“No, but I do enjoy the relative privacy.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and the carriage slowly bounced along the path. Loki studied her, eyes lucent in the dimness. “You wore them,” he noted softly, perfect white teeth appearing as he grinned. “My gifts.”

“You ordered me to, did you not?”

“I did,” he acknowledged, “and I would have punished you had you disobeyed. But that is not why you chose to wear them, is it?”

“Then why _did_ I, God of Lies?”

“Because you accept that you are mine,” he replied, a smug smirk forming, “and you wish to please me.”

He placed his hand on her knee, and Aelia frowned, thinking that privacy may have been a poor idea, though she quickly reassured herself; what harm could he possibly do in this small of a space? They could barely move as it was. “It does please me,” he added, leaning forward slightly, sliding his fingers along the fabric covering her thigh.

The carriage suddenly felt uncomfortably warm, and Aelia pressed her thighs together firmly. “That is enough,” she whispered furiously, terrified that one of the soldiers would overhear, or that the door would suddenly open just as Loki somehow, yet again, persuaded her out of her stola.

“For now.” He laughed, and leaned back in his seat, knees knocking against hers. “I suppose you may entertain me some other way.”

“Or you could entertain _me,”_ Aelia replied. She did not like talking about her life, and she could tell that he was in a prying mood. His tales were far more exciting.

“How do you wish to be entertained, then, little mistress?”

“What do your people look like?” she asked impulsively. “Gods and goddesses, I mean. They are all tall, like you?”

“For the most part, yes.” His look was knowing, as if he understood the cause of her train of thought. “But I am an outlier, as far as complexion. Most have fair hair and warm skin, so I have a tendency to stand out in a crowd.”

“I see. Everyone must be very beautiful.”

Loki snorted. “I would hardly describe Thor or Odin as _beautiful._ Asgard prides itself on military prowess, so the men are typically hardy, and the women statuesque. Why do you ask?”

“I was simply curious.”

 

* * *

 

Two hours crept by slowly, and Aelia was almost relieved when the finally arrived at Juvenus’s villa, if only for the simple fact that it gave her a reason to stretch her legs. The luncheon itself was just as unpleasant as she had expected, although everyone else seemed so eager to talk to the prince that her reticence seemed to go mostly unnoticed.

The senator did put his hand on her arm more often than she considered polite, especially in front of the future emperor that was apparently interested in wedding her, but she tried to shrug off her discomfort. It was nothing new, really; it just bothered her more now that Loki was there. She used to be able to disconnect, to tune out, but now, she was too finely-attuned to the green eyes that were always watching her.

Roman meals were a lengthy process, and Aelia nearly wept with gratitude when the prince finally announced that it was time for him to return to his camp. “I should be off, as well, Senator,” she said shortly afterwards. “I would like to reach home before the evening.”

“Of course, dear Sabina,” the grey-haired man replied, looking slightly regretful, and he had escorted her to the front gate himself, telling her that he would call on her uncle soon. _Well,_ she thought as she climbed back into the carriage, _it was unpleasant, but it is over, and I survived._ She would be home soon, and her cheeks warmed as Loki climbed in behind her, wondering if she might convince him to hold her once they were back in the privacy of her chamber.

 

* * *

 

The mortal prince, at least, had tact and poise; Loki had to give him credit for that. The old senator, on the other hand, did not, and Loki gleefully envisioned breaking his wrist every single time he placed a hand on Aelia’s arm. He was almost glad to be back in the suffocating little box she called a carriage, for at least it separated him from the other mortals for a time. The girl seemed equally pleased to be alone with him again, he noted with satisfaction.

He opened the windows after a while to look at the scenery, but there wasn’t much to see - trees and rocks, and an occasional hill here and there. His mortal began to shiver from the cold, and he closed the shutter again. “What do you plan to do when we return?” he asked. If she had nothing in mind, he was _more_ than willing to make a suggestion or two, and they all involved his mouth and her body.

“There will be another gladiatorial spectacle and feast next week.” She grimaced, as if it pained her to even mention such a thing. “I should meet with the head cook to discuss a menu so that they may begin making purchases.”

“That sounds terribly boring. I have a better idea.”

“Do you?” she asked wryly, but suddenly something prickled at the edge of Loki’s senses, and he stiffened.

“Asgardian!” shouted a voice, the voice of the mortal soldier that he did not mind, and then they jolted to a halt just a moment later, followed by screaming and frightened whinneys and the sounds of chaos. The sounds of an ambush, Loki realized immediately, and he leapt into action even as a tiny flicker of worry kindled in his chest.

“Do not move,” he growled, retrieving his hidden penknife and shoving it into the mortal’s hands. “Stay inside,” Loki emphasized once again, taking in her wide-eyed, frightened expression, then he kicked open the small door and jumped out of the carriage, prepared for blood.

And blood there was. They had come to a halt at a fork in the road, one path leading northward into more densely-wooded forests. The horse had been cut loose and was nowhere to be seen, and the servant at the reins was pulled from his seat, throat cut, some other slain man not far from him. Only two of the guards had fallen, and the rest were skirmishing with some poorly-outfitted Midgardians that Loki did not recognize. The attackers were more numerous, but they were sloppy, messy, and he ran into the fray without hesitation. Caius had seen them first, he assumed, or perhaps he had sensed them as Loki had, and they had attacked hastily, frightened to have lost the element of total surprise.

It was quick, and it was brutal. The first man Loki managed to reach died easily enough, and he provided a weapon, at least, but the soldiers were not faring as well, and he saw another fall out of the corner of his eye. He did not care if they died, but they did provide a barrier to the carriage, and at the moment, that was all he cared about. He put his focus towards the men in front of him, and before long, two more had fallen.

But he was wrong, and he realized his mistake a moment too late as a woman’s scream pierced the air. _A distraction._ He turned and ran back towards the carriage, its door nearly torn off its hinges, his heart skipping with relief as he found her standing behind it, her back to him, with a dead man at her feet.

“Aelia,” he called, hurrying towards her, “come-”

And then she turned, and the relief was replaced by a dark, icy coldness as she lifted her hands from her abdomen, staring at them in shocked disbelief as crimson bloomed against the stark white of her gown. “Loki?” she whispered, voice frightened and childlike, and suddenly he could not hear the steel or the shouts of the fight anymore, but only his own heartbeat.

He caught her before she fell, and she blinked at him in confusion as he pressed his hand against the wound, her blue eyes slightly unfocused. It was deep, and he realized with despair that he likely could not harness enough power to stem the flow in time. His senses returned then, all at once, the sounds of the men dying behind him, her labored breaths, the sharp smell of blood. “I am bleeding,” she stated matter-of-factly, her eyes returning to her stained hands.

Loki glanced over his shoulder. It was two against two now, and Otho’s men seemed to be losing. They did not have much time. “You must put pressure on it,” he said urgently, knowing that he would have to let her go to finish off the last of the attackers. “You will be fine.”

 _“Liar,”_ she laughed, meeting his worried gaze, the sound making a bizarre and unpleasant contrast to the direness of the situation. The girl was becoming delirious, he realized. Loki pressed harder, trying to mend as much as he could before she faded. Her head lolled slightly to the side as she regarded her hands once again. “Blood sacrifice,” Aelia whispered, and before he could process what she meant, she dug her fingers under the golden collar at his neck, tearing against it with a bone-chilling scream of pain that horrified him so greatly he almost did not notice when the binding began to give way.

Then suddenly, it was simply _gone,_ and the feeling of power, even though it was only fractional, crashed over him like a wave. He lay the mortal gently against the ground, skin buzzing with heightened awareness as latent energy scrambled to the surface. His throwing knives appeared in his hands with ease, almost as if they’d never left, and before they could blink, the two men sneaking up behind him were dead, blades buried deep.

He felt wild at the rush of it, and infuriated, because the cuffs at his wrists were still there, siphoning off his power, and it was not _enough,_ not anywhere near enough for Loki to properly vent his rage. “Where are you?” he screamed at the heavens, the only man left standing on the quiet, bloody forest path. “Do you not _see_ me?”

“Loki,” a gentle voice called, barely audible, abruptly returning his attention to the mortal girl dying at his feet. “Loki, _run.”_

The god fell to his knees, pouring every drop of his newly-unleashed energy into her, hoping that his healing seiðr was more proficient than he’d believed. The bleeding slowed, but she was unconscious, barely breathing, and with the enchantments still in place, his magic could not restore itself. Nearly a month’s worth of carefully-hoarded power, and he had spent it all on her without thinking.

Cradling his little mortal to his chest, Loki stood, torn by indecision. Now was the opportune time to flee; no one would even notice that he was gone for hours, and he was fairly certain that he could disappear into the woods with ease. He could take her with him, but…

Loki studied the pretty Midgardian in his arms, willing himself to be rational. He was useless again, as far as seiðr was concerned, and the girl would likely die; he had slowed the inevitable, but he had not stopped it. Or, perhaps more kindly, he could leave her here, and hopefully some passerby would find her in time. But she did not _have_ time. She’d _never_ had time, not really; that was what made mortals so pathetic, so dreadfully inferior.

He stared at the fork in the road, anger and resentment rolling off of him in waves. He _should_ run, and he told himself that even the mere fact that he was considering the wellbeing of a mortal at such a time was a sign of some weakness, some terrible flaw. Mortals were easy enough to replace, were they not? There were millions of them, and Loki was a _god._ Clutching her more tightly, he was troubled to realize that he did not care. Aelia was _his,_ and he was not eager to release her so easily, no matter what became of her.

Heaving a guilty sigh, he chose his path.  

 

* * *

 

Dying, as it turned out, was even more painful than she had expected. But Loki was there, in the end, and that seemed good, somehow, seemed _right_ that a god would be the last thing her mortal eyes beheld. Especially, she realized as the darkness closed in, because she loved him.

 


	24. XXIV

The God of Mischief had never been one to beg, but as he hovered at the mortal’s side, stone-faced and frozen in fear, he prayed - to Frigga, to Eir, to the Norns, _Hel,_ even to Odin. _This,_ he supposed, was the price of claiming a mortal… one was liable to grow _attached._ His bitterness was a powerful, heavy thing, the weight of it nearly crushing him. Loki had never drowned, but he imagined that it might feel something like this.

It was _her_ fault. The mortal was to blame, and he would _never_ forgive her.

He had nearly broken down the gate when he’d arrived back at her uncle’s villa, roaring angrily for the soldiers to stay back. Loki doubted that they even _could_ have killed him, then, despite his lack of seiðr, for his rage was so great that he could practically feel it crackling along his skin.

He had not stopped until he reached her chamber, accruing a following of shouting guards and worried servants in his wake. Placing her carefully on the bed, he spun on his heel, grabbing the most authoritative-looking servant by the throat. “Heal her,” he snarled, “Or you all shall die.”

With the blood covering him, he must’ve cut a terrifying figure, for no one dared to argue. “Yes, of course,” the man whimpered, nodding frantically, turning to flee as soon as Loki’s grip loosened.

Several of the maids he recognized hurried in, fussing over what to do. Loki did not have time for foolishness, and he ripped her gown open to the sound of stifled gasps, pushing the stained fabric away. It was not the time for propriety.

Now that he had the chance to look more closely, he was impressed by how much he had managed to heal; if he was only seeing the wound for the first time, he might have even thought it shallow. “Clean and sterilize her injury,” he ordered, “and bandage it well. She has lost a great deal of blood.”

They scurried to obey, and Loki knelt by the bed, refusing to leave her side. He did not trust these Midgardians; letting down his guard around mortals was the cause of this whole disaster. The god watched with disdain as they cleaned the area with wine and bandaged it with clean white cotton and honey. _Savages,_ he thought.

The servant he’d nearly throttled reappeared before long, several armored guards in his wake. Clearing his throat nervously, he asked, “What befell the mistress, slave?”

Loki bristled, but deigned to reply. “There was an ambush,” he snapped, “along the path that leads from the senator’s estate. We were near a fork in the road. I suggest that you send someone back to check for survivors.”

“How is it,” the man continued, “that only you remain unscathed?”

That was _it;_ Loki was _through_ dealing with mortals. Towering to his full height, he sneered, “Because I am _stronger_ than any of you. Now get out.” No one moved. “Get out!” the god roared, and the servants turned and fled from him as if he was some sort of avenging demon. He supposed it was what he looked like, furious and covered in blood.

He’d thrown his tunic on the floor; it was far beyond repair, and the smell had started to sicken him, then he used the half-filled bowl of water on her table to clean the red streaks off of his neck and chest. Sticking his head out in the hall, he pointed at one of the nearby servants, hovering about as if they had no idea what to do. _Perfect_ \- Loki had centuries of practice at telling servants what to do.

“You,” he ordered. “Go fetch clean water.” He frowned, adding, “And some type of broth, something with meat.” Iron should help, shouldn’t it? Her blood would need to be fortified. Perhaps he should have listened more closely during Frigga’s lessons. “Fresh bedding, too.”

The servant scurried away, and several others left as well, either to escape his ire or to help complete his instructions with greater haste, he could not be certain. Returning to Aelia’s side, he sat on the bed, watching her intently for any signs of change.

And he prayed for help, though he knew by now that no one on Asgard was listening.

He ignored the servants as they came and went, bringing what he’d demanded, and as night fell, he was finally rewarded with a faint flickering of her eyelashes. “Lia?” he whispered, startled from his morbid thoughts as her eyes slowly opened. “How do you feel?”

“As if… _stabbed,”_ she rasped, tears springing to her eyes as she coughed. “It hurts, Loki. I… I was _dying._ I _felt_ it, I -”

“I know,” he soothed, bringing water to trickle across her lips. “But you do not have my permission to die yet, mortal.”

“No?” she managed, lip quirking in the faintest hint of a smile. “Fortunate.”

“That blood-magic stunt nearly finished you off, I’d imagine,” he said, solace coursing through him like a wild river now that he’d seen the spark back in her eyes.

“Desperate.”

“Do not speak,” he ordered, cupping her face, smoothing a thumb down her cheek. “It was foolish, mortal. I would chastise you further, if you were not already in such a pitiful state.” She glared at him, though the expression was weak, and he fought the urge to smile. “You killed a man,” Loki informed her, watching with interest as her face crumpled. “I must admit that I am impressed.”

“Did not want to,” she whispered, shaking slightly.

He tsked, moving to pull another blanket over her. “He is lucky to have perished so quickly.”

It was true; if Loki had reached him while he still lived, the man would have suffered greatly. He was struck with the sudden realization that little Aelia, battling to her last, would have gone to join the honored dead in Valhalla, a warrior’s end. Loki nearly laughed at the ridiculous thought of the tiny mortal surrounded by hulking warriors and troops of valkyrjur, and she looked at him quizzically. “It is nothing,” he assured her, picking up a bowl from the small table he’d had moved near her bed. “Drink this.”

She obeyed, pleasing him immensely, and it did not take long for her to drift off again. Though he was still irritated that she’d attempted dangerous magic that she knew nothing about, Loki had to admit that it felt good, having his power trickle back even more quickly now. Propping himself up beside her, he kept his hand on the smooth skin just below her bandage, allowing every ounce of seiðr to flow into her the moment it he could harness it.

Was it so terrible, he wondered, that he had decided to stay behind to protect his prize? It was not as if he had been _planning_ to escape that day, after all; at the most, it was a missed opportunity. What would Thor have done, had he found himself in the same situation? He quickly dismissed the thought; he could not imagine his brother, brash and rough as he was, ever taking any lasting interest in something so delicate, so ephemeral.

This was something he could not have anticipated, this vile _attachment_ of his, and though he despised it, Loki was adaptable, and he decided that he might as well accept it as the newest complication in his life and move on with his plans. If he was unwilling to lose her, then he would have to be more careful, both now and when he returned to Asgard. She would end up in the dungeons or banished directly back to Midgard if Odin found out, and all of Loki’s efforts would have been wasted.

Yes, he told himself, pressing his lips to her hair in an absent-minded kiss, it was the wasted effort that would plague him, if he somehow lost her, if she managed to perish while under his care. The overwhelming feeling that he had been hesitant to identify was not despair, but a sense of disappointment, he was certain of it. It only felt so dire because he was unused to disappointment. At least, that was what he convinced himself.

 

* * *

 

A hesitant knock on the door woke him sometime during the night, and Loki sat up suddenly, surprised that he had managed to fall asleep in the first place. One of the maids he’d never bothered to pay attention to opened the door carefully and peered inside, holding a candle. “Um… barbarian?” she whispered, clearly confounded as to how she was supposed to address him, now that he had started barking commands at everyone. “The master will be back in the morning, along with everyone else. The messenger said that he is in a fury.”

“I am not leaving,” he stated, not even bothering to move away from the little mistress asleep on the bed.

“Well, no, but…” her face fell, and Loki wondered briefly if they’d drawn lots to select the unlucky soul who would be tasked with facing him. “Will you at least let us dress her?” she asked, turning pink.

Loki stared. “Will it really seem so scandalous for her to be in her underthings when she was just very nearly _murdered?”_

“Yes,” the girl said softly, “they will think so.” She was shaking slightly, Loki noticed, and he sighed. His murderous temper might as well be saved for those who deserved it.

“Fine,” he said, and he stood and walked towards her, rolling his eyes as the maid flinched away, causing the candlelight to flicker. “You have a quarter of an hour to do whatever it is that _propriety demands,”_ he sneered, “and then I will be back.”

“Yes. You still have blood on you,” she added, looking steadfastly at anything but him.

_What an inane thing to say,_ Loki thought, although perhaps it explained why everyone seemed so frightened of him now. “It is not mine,” he replied, baring his teeth in a smile that Thor had often described as ‘highly displeasing.’ The girl quailed. “If her condition somehow worsens in the few moments I am gone,” he added, brushing past her into the hallway, “so will _yours.”_

The villa was quiet at this hour, but as Loki walked towards the bathing chamber, he could practically taste the mortal apprehension in the air, and he wondered if they were more afraid of him, or their returning master. He washed himself quickly, eager to get back to Aelia’s side, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he was forced to re-wear his trousers. At least they were not as badly ruined as his tunic had been, though he should probably demand new ones now, while the servants seemed eager to heed him.

He paused as he neared her chamber, glancing down the hall to the door that belonged to his mortal’s handmaiden; it was shocking that she had not burst into the room, making a nuisance of herself. Entering the chamber, he asked, “Where is the chief handmaiden? The one named Lavinia?”

The maids all turned towards him, hesitant, and the one from earlier stepped forward slightly to speak. “She was ill, so she moved to the infirmary on the other side of the villa.”

Loki frowned. “Is it serious?”

“We do not believe so. It was simply a precaution.”

“Does she know about this… incident?”

The maid glanced at one of her companions. “No,” she replied. “We did not know what to say.”

“Tell her,” he ordered, “first thing in the morning.” If any mortals could be trusted to look after his pet, the she-wolf in a maid’s form was one of them; he was certain of that. “Now leave.”

They scurried away, and Loki returned to her bedside. Aelia was in a simple tunic now, much like the one she typically wore to sleep, and he had to admit that it made her condition look a bit less dire. Exhaustion was settling in, and he stretched out on the bed beside her, draping his arm carefully across her chest. Feeling the rise and fall of her breathing soothed him, and he decided in that moment that he quite liked having a woman to share his bed; she was so warm, so _soft._

Even though the edge was gone, now that she seemed to be mending under his care, the god still trembled with fury at the thought that someone would dare to touch her in the first place. The question, really, was who was responsible? Though he would not put it past her uncle to kill her, he could imagine no reason why such a move would prove advantageous. In fact, at the moment, he probably considered her more valuable than ever before. Whoever it was, Loki would find them, and he would make them suffer.

 

* * *

 

A servant rushed in to warn him just moments before Otho and Basileus arrived, and Loki removed his hand from her bare neck, where he’d been channeling seiðr, moving to stand between his mortal and the door. He could feel her wound knitting closed, bit by bit, and he had no doubt that it would soon be nothing more than a scar. Recovering from the shock and the rapid blood loss, he knew, would take more time.

The two men appeared in her doorway, several servants and soldiers behind them. For a moment, they simply regarded each other. “What happened, barbarian?” Otho finally bit out.

“You tell me,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Why would someone go to such efforts to murder a woman?”

Otho sneered, walking closer to glare down at his niece as if she were somehow to blame for it all, though Loki was amused to note that he stayed just out of reach; at least, Loki was certain that the man _thought_ that he was out of reach. Really, the god could be on him in the blink of an eye, even if he stayed on the other side of the room. “I imagine that bandits were prowling the roadways,” he said, turning towards the mortal prince. “A carriage with guards indicates someone of status and wealth, and there has been more activity on the local roads of late.”

“Ah, yes, that is a possibility,” Basileus replied solemnly, strolling around to the other side of the bed, studying the mortal’s still form for a moment in silence. Looking up, he met Loki’s gaze with an odd, amused look in his eyes. “What do you think, Loki of Asgard? You seem to have a strategizing mind. What do you suppose could be the reason for such a heinous attack?”

“I can think of several reasons, actually, and they all revolve around _you,_ Basileus of Rome.”

The girl’s uncle looked nearly apoplectic at hearing a slave speak in such a way to his honored guest, but Loki ignored him; he knew which of the mortals really held all of the power in the room. Basileus smiled slightly. “Is that so?”

Loki did not bother to reply; they both knew what he meant. Either the mortal prince had decided to do away with her as part of his scheming and plotting with Otho, or he was responsible for putting her in the precarious position of the future emperor’s betrothed, with all of the risks it entailed. He did not intend to forgive either.

“I suppose the decision to make you a bodyguard was a wise one,” Basileus said after a moment, cutting off whatever angry rant her uncle was about to begin. “Lady Aelia has won that wager, it seems. You may stay with her for now. Come, Otho, I wish to speak with you about this matter.” With that being said, he abruptly turned and strode towards the door, guards parting to let him through.

The master of the house shot the god a hateful glare before following. “Of course, sire. My study…?”

He stood watching, arms crossed and frown in place, until the voices had trailed off into the distance. Several of the guards and servants hovered about in the open doorway, seemingly unsure if they were to leave him alone with the mistress again. Loki smiled icily, enjoying how it seemed to unnerve them so. “The door?” he asked with faux patience, and after a moment of hesitation they all shuffled out, leaving him alone again with his pet.

That had been… simpler than expected. Rolling his neck to ease some of his tension, for he had been preparing for the slaughter, Loki returned to his place at her side. The thin mattress dipped as he sat, and Aelia’s eyes slowly peeked open. “I do not think Uncle is pleased with me,” she whispered, smiling lopsidedly.

“You were awake?”

“When you moved away, I felt it.”

“I see.” He studied her pale features, uncertain as to how he should address her now that something had changed, whatever that _something_ was. _It does not matter,_ he told himself. _I realized that her value to me is more than I’d anticipated. That is all._

She took a shaky breath, sliding her fingers to her covered abdomen. “I thought I died,” she confessed quietly, searching his eyes. “But I was not alone, and that gave me comfort.” He noticed that her hand was trembling slightly, and he took it. “You were there, and a woman in white. My mother, I think?”

Loki looked down at her in dismay; she sounded so _hopeful,_ as if he could confirm such a thing. “You are rambling,” he told her, smoothing hair back from her brow. “Eat something, then sleep.”

“Yes, _Prince.”_ He was certain that she had meant it to sound snarky, but it came out as more of a breathy sigh, her energy spent.

“Just a moment,” he said, squeezing her hand, then he let her go and rose, walking purposefully back to the door. Opening it, he spied the girl from the previous night hovering amongst the servants in the hallway, and he pointed at her. “You,” he said, and the girl blanched. “What is your name?”

“Prisca.”

He felt her hesitate, the urge to address him by _some_ appropriate title evident on her face. Loki was almost at the point that he started demanding everyone address him as they _should;_ it was clear that they craved the order. “Prisca.” _Another mortal name learned,_ he thought, irritated. “Your mistress needs something to eat, and so do I. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes,” she replied, head bowed.

“Find something for me to wear, while you’re at it,” Loki added imperiously, closing the door decisively as he went back into the room. Glancing around, he wondered what to do with his time, as he did not intend to leave her side, at least not until she was fully healed. _Setback after setback._

Playing nursemaid was not something he took to easily, and the thought of sitting around staring at her sleeping form all day irked him; it was something that he had not considered, due to all of the excitement of ensuring that she survived. His mortal appeared to be sleeping again already, but her lips curled slightly as he approached. “Loki,” she called, so softly that he had to stoop over to hear her. “Did you take the pain away?”

“I did. It will soon be nothing more than a faint scar and a distant memory.”

“Why?”

Loki froze, grateful that he did not have to face her wide blue gaze, at least. “I do not allow others to break my things,” he said, rightening, suddenly eager to escape her.

“Your power?”

He frowned, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. So she realized, then, what saving her life had cost him. “It will restore more quickly, now that one of the bindings is gone. I shall adhere to the original plan.”

One of the girl’s eyes opened, squinting at him critically. “You have a nice neck,” she murmured. “Collar looked nice on you.”

An arch smile crossed his features, vastly entertained by her half-coherent observations. “I am certain that one would look rather nice on you, as well.”

“Rogue.”

_“My,_ it seems that facing death has made you quite bold, mortal. We cannot have that, can we?”

Loki towered over her, but the girl simply continued to squint at him. After a moment, she snorted, closing her eye again. “What would you do, kill me?”

Though he was vexed by her sudden lack of respect, Loki was equally amused by it, and he could not contain a bark of laughter. “I _could._ It would take very little effort, especially now.”

“You would not.”

“No?” He sat next to her, leaning over and caging her between his arms. “Look at me.” Aelia obeyed, though she did not seem eager to do so. “You are taking advantage of your condition, and I will allow it, for now. Once you are healed,” he said, eyes narrowing as he moved closer, “I will not be so _tender.”_

Had she been in better shape, Loki was certain that the little mortal would have blushed. As things were now, her eyes merely widened slightly, pupils dilating. His gaze flickered to her lips, deciding that now might be an _excellent_ time to steal a kiss; he had undoubtedly earned it.

There was a cautious knock on the door before he had a chance to act, and he sat back in annoyance. “Enter,” he barked, not bothering to look over his shoulder; only a servant or slave would knock, and none of them merited his concern.

Hesitant footsteps crossed the floor, and he finally glanced up when she neared him. The serving-girl had balanced, rather expertly, a tray in one hand and a bundle of clothes in the other. “Here you are,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Thank you, Prisca,” Aelia managed, attempting a reassuring smile.

It would seem that the servant had been so fixed on avoiding his gaze that she’d failed to notice her mistress was awake, and she started in surprise. Loki snatched the tray from her before she could drop it, glaring slightly. “My lady!” she exclaimed, falling to her knees by the bed, “How do you feel? Shall I fetch the master?”

His mortal groaned. “Not well. Please do not tell him yet.”

“Yes, my lady.” The servant glanced between the two of them with uncertainty. “Shall I fetch… someone else?”

“You shall _leave,”_ Loki sneered, “and stay out until you are summoned.”

“He saved my life,” Aelia told the girl reassuringly. “Do as he says.”

Nodding stiffly, the servant rose, placing her bundle on the bed beside him, then fled the chamber. His mortal took a deep breath, grimacing as she tried to sit up. “Ah, ah,” he warned, pushing her back down carefully. “I’ll not allow you to undo my efforts.”

She fell back against her pillow without a word of complaint, and Loki examined her features. The girl looked exhausted, and worryingly pale. He should really bar the door, he thought; the excitement of visitors right now was too draining. However, he had a feeling that the master of the house would not take well to such a thing, and would likely order his men to tear it down; that was the last thing he wanted to deal with, at the moment.

The contents of tray he’d been presented with were less than ideal, but it would have to do - another stew, which smelled appetizing, at least, and a loaf of bread. There was also a small bowl of what appeared to be seeds. “What are these?” he asked, plucking one from the bowl and examining it curiously.

“Pomegranate seed.”

The name was familiar, though the fruit itself was not, and he popped one into his mouth, surprised to find that he rather enjoyed it. “As in the myth?”

“Yes,” she replied, smiling lightly. “As in the myth.”

“Hmm.” He tore off a chunk of bread, dipping it in the stew, and then sampled it, as well. It would not do to save her from a stabbing, only to have her be poisoned right under his nose. Reassured that it was safe, he tore off another piece and dunked it in the bowl. Holding it out to her, he ordered, “Open.” Though she looked slightly embarrassed, she obeyed.

It was oddly intimate, he decided, tending to her like this, and he allowed his fingertips to brush against her lips far more than could be attributed to an accidental slip of the hand. Once she had managed to eat enough for him to be satisfied, Loki polished off the rest, then sat the tray and his new clothing aside. “Sleep,” he said, gently petting her golden hair.

Loki sat beside her until it seemed that her sleep was sound, then he stood, retrieving the bundle of clothing and looking it over. The tunic that the girl had found was, _somehow,_ even more shapeless than the one that had been ruined, though the trousers were nearly identical. _Good enough,_ he told himself as he quickly changed, resigned. Though he had never been what he would consider particularly _flashy,_ he had decided that when he returned to Asgard, he would coat himself in finery, if only to forget about the coarsely-woven travesties that he had been forced to endure on Midgard.

He re-wrapped his leather belt about his waist, unpinning the girl’s sun brooch for a moment as he did so, surprised to find it warm to the touch. Flipping it between his fingers, he frowned at the thing; was it charmed? Loki could detect no trace of a spell, but then, he _was_ rather limited himself at the moment. Perhaps it was some sort of weak protection charm, dulled and faded over the years; it did not seem to have any ill-effects, and he decided to give it further investigation once he was home.

Rummaging through his mortal’s things, he eventually found a book that seemed entertaining enough, and he sat on the floor by her window, stretching out his legs and settling in for the long wait.

 

* * *

 

No one bothered to disturb them for hours, and the god was content to sit around and wait for the time being, knowing that his little mortal needed the rest. That is why, when the door suddenly opened and the Roman prince slipped inside, he did not explode with rage, determined not to wake her. Closing the book slowly, he glanced up at the man with a look of practiced boredom.

“Here we find the fearsome barbarian gladiator, Loki of Asgard, reading… what is that, Homer?” The mortal man laughed to himself, approaching and crouching down to meet Loki’s stoic glare. His voice was quiet, meant only for the god’s ears. “How painful it must be, Asgardian, to have your _weakness_ exposed.”

He turned his head slightly, looking towards the bed where Aelia lay, and Loki bristled. “Meaning?”

The prince said nothing for a moment, regarding him carefully, and Loki was struck, yet again, with just how _flat_ the man’s eyes seemed - no depth, no feeling. “She is so very pretty, is she not?” he asked pleasantly. “So _perfectly_ suited to be at the side of a man with power. Timid, lovely to look upon, sympathetic to the common man… I could go on, but then, I am sure that _you_ could, as well.”

Loki’s jaw clenched. “Have you had her yet?” the man continued conversationally. “It matters not to me; I can bed her and breed her just as well, whether she is a maiden or not. _Ah,_ see? There is that fire in your eyes, Asgardian. You are a dangerous man, I have no doubt of that. I admire that - it is what makes you useful. But, unfortunately for you, you have shown your hand.”

_Kill him,_ the god’s inner voice whispered, more insistent than usual. _Kill him now._

“Would you like to know your mistress’s destiny? I will take her as my wife, and she shall make a wonderful empress, tending to my needs, bearing my heirs… it may be difficult on her, considering what a delicate little thing she is.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

Basileus smiled. “There is, indeed. I want your loyalty, barbarian.” He stood suddenly, clasping his hands behind his back. “My father has outlived his usefulness, I fear. I find myself in need of a hidden hand, one that I can trust entirely. Many of my allies would happily betray me to the current emperor; they care only for power, and I am still only second-best.”

The god smiled unpleasantly. “You want an assassin.”

“Exactly - an assassin on a leash, to be more precise.”

“I fear, then, that you have come to the wrong place.”

“I think otherwise. Admittedly, I was skeptical at first; you seem like the type of man with no loyalties. But that is not true, is it?” He turned and walked over to the bed, looking down at the girl with a curious expression. “What inspires such loyalty in men like you and I, I wonder?”

It took every bit of self-control he had to remain where he sat, face carefully blank. “You would consider us of a type? I suppose I should feel honored.”

The mortal prince ignored his taunting tone. “You determine the girl’s fate, Asgardian. Obey me, and I shall be gentle with her. I will even allow this…” he waved his hand dismissively, “... this _affair_ to continue. It has no effect on me whatsoever.”

Loki laughed then; the _audacity_ of it all! “And if I betray you, what then?”

“Oh, I still intend to make use of her, of course, but being the wife of an emperor is such a _dangerous_ thing, and women are weak. Childbirth, conspiracies, robbers in the night - there are countless possibilities, really.”

Though he was seeing crimson, the god kept his composure; let the man think whatever he wanted. They would both be gone before anything could happen, and he did not wish to take the risk of moving his mortal again so soon. If he killed Basileus now, he would have no choice. “Power comes with a price.”

“That it does; I _knew_ you would understand.” Without waiting for acceptance or denial of his offer, he turned and headed towards the door, and Loki trembled with the urge to bury a knife in his back. “I look forward to our talks, Loki of Asgard.” Then he was gone.

Waiting until the man’s footsteps had retreated, Loki cursed, hurling the book against the door. To be threatened _yet again_ by a mortal… and it was made far worse by the fact that the man was _right._ Aelia _was_ a weakness, and the thought someone else planning to use and discard her in such a way filled him with fury.

So, the mortal prince wanted a loyal murderer, did he? Loki supposed that he seemed like a sensible choice for the job; he had shown himself to be fast and nearly undefeatable, and he certainly had no ties to any parties in this pathetic Midgardian empire. The girl was meant to be both the carrot and the stick. It would have been a good plan, had Loki been a mortal man.

After a moment, he rose and made his way back to the bed, some inner voice urging him to make the most of every moment he had with her. _“What inspires such loyalty?”_ the prince had asked. Looking down at her now, Loki still was not sure, though he began to believe that it was something unique to only her. Pulling the blankets aside, he settled back in beside her, propping himself up on one arm so that he could study her peaceful countenance.

Her eyelashes, he observed absently, were long and straight, though they were so light he had never really noticed. He smoothed a finger down her brow, noting the very faint worry-lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth. _They should be laugh-lines,_ he thought, trailing his fingertips down her cheek. A short, cruel life - she did not deserve that, did she? Loki would not allow it.

 

* * *

 

_For many a day, they roamed far and wide,_

_But never on starry water,_

_For the mortal was doomed to fade away;_

_Stígandr to live without her._

 

Loki woke suddenly, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. _I suppose my memory is taunting me,_ he thought wryly; why else would he choose now to recall more of such a depressing ballad? His own mortal was still sound asleep, though he noticed that she seemed warmer than before. A fever? Slightly concerned, he pressed his palm to her forehead; she certainly felt warm to the touch, but he could not tell if she was feverish. He would have to take a closer look at her injury in the morning. Wrapping himself back around her, he soon fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

She was still worryingly hot when he woke her in the morning, though the wound seemed to be healing nicely and showed no sign of infection. The girl still appeared weak and dazed, and he ordered her not to talk, wanting her to conserve her energy. He’d called for the maid Prisca to bring something to break their fast, and once they had eaten, he tucked her in, dragging a stool from the corner to sit by her bedside, recovered book in hand.

Several hours passed in relative peace, and Loki eventually grew tired of sitting. Pacing the small room proved fruitless, since it only took a moment for him to cross the entire chamber with his long strides, and he moved to the window, pulling open the heavy shutters and gazing outside. It was overcast and gloomy, a perfect match for his mood. Why should the sun shine brightly, when little Lia was not awake to enjoy it?

_Sentimentality._ He scowled, latching the shutters back again. A knock sounded against the door, and Loki turned, wondering what the maid Prisca could want now. But it was not Prisca who slipped into the room; it was Lavinia, sporting dark circles under her eyes.  

The handmaiden cleared her throat awkwardly, coming to sit on the stool by the bedside. She studied him carefully, looking as if she already regretted what she was about to say. “It would seem that I have misjudged you, Loki of Asgard.”

Loki laughed ruefully, leaning back against the wall. “No,” he replied. “You did not.”

“You could have made your escape.”

“It was not an opportune time.”

“Was it not?” the maid asked, expression skeptical.

They stayed silent for a few moments, both watching his mortal’s chest rise and fall to the pattern of her breathing.

“How old were you,” Loki asked suddenly, “when you came here to care for her?”

The woman grimaced. “Twelve years of age,” she said, covering her mouth as she coughed. “My father was a soldier from Greece with a proclivity for gambling. He sold me to pay off his debts; the master pressured him greatly. I suppose he was desperate for a nursemaid.”

His looked at her in surprise, but she was still watching her mistress’s face. “I did not know that you were a slave,” he said. “I thought-”

She sighed. “My lady would free me, if she could. She has always said that she will make it one of the conditions of her marriage.”

_Of course,_ Loki thought, _always so selfless._ “How old was she, when he acquired her? She says that she remembers nothing of her mother or father, only a fire.”

“Only three or four, I believe. She did remember, at one time, but Otho did not allow it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Lavinia turned to meet his gaze now, and there was a clear, deep-rooted hatred in her eyes. “I arrived at this place a day before Lady Aelia,” she said. “He did not meet her. He had ordered that everything she had be stripped and burned on the trash heap before she was even allowed through the gate.”

Loki felt something painful twist in his chest, and the woman continued, “And she did not have much: the clothes on her back, some ribbons in her hair, a fur cloak, some woven bracelets. That brooch you wear,” she pointed briefly, “I dug out of the ashes _myself._ It is why the master never knew where it came from, because he _refused to see her_ until she had been bathed and dressed as a Roman.”

He suddenly found himself struggling to keep himself calm. “Why did he do this?”

“It was his intention to break her, I believe, from the very beginning. You must understand that her father was an incredibly popular man,” she said, “both as a commander and as a politician. No one would have ever expected him to fall out of favor with the emperor so quickly. I suppose Otho feared that some in the capital would be loyal to her, even though she was the daughter of a traitor, not a legitimate male heir.”

The god frowned. It did not make sense; things had all gone far too well for the younger brother. “He knew in advance that she was coming,” he said, thinking aloud, “if he brought you here first.”

“The soldiers must have sent word ahead when they found her,” the maid replied, fussing with the blankets on the bed. “Lady Aelia knew her mother’s native tongue when she came here, you know. She taught me a few words, when she first arrived. I think it helped her feel close to them. The master overheard one day and had me beaten, badly. After that…” She sighed, closing her eyes. “After that, she never spoke of them again. It was better to forget.”

Swallowing down his building rage, Loki asked, “Did she speak of her mother, before that day?”

“Yes.” A few tears escaped, running down her cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away. “I still remember. Her name was Alfrún. My lady said that she was very kind, and very brave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our girl lives! (& it looks like the God of Lies is going to be spending some more quality time on Midgard). 
> 
> THANK YOU so much to everyone who's been commenting! Every single one seriously brightens up my day. <3
> 
> Current song: "House on a Hill" by Kamelot.


	25. XXV

The girl slept for an entire day and night, and the god did his best not to fret over her. He eventually allowed Lavinia to sit with her for a while, eager to escape the confines of her small bedchamber, but equally determined not to leave her alone. Loki found Prisca easily enough as he prowled through the villa, and pleased with how well she had been obeying him so far, he had stopped her.

“Were there survivors?” he asked. She nodded, loose ringlets bobbing. “Take me to them.”

The maid led him across the villa to what apparently served as the infirmary; the room was only slightly bigger than Aelia’s bedchamber, with a row of cots situated along one wall. “I can find my own way back,” he said, dismissing her.

“Asgardian!” a chipper voice called, and Loki walked over to examine its owner, one of the two men currently occupying the room.

“Caius,” he greeted. “I see that you managed to evade death.”

The boy sat up, rubbing his heavily bandaged head. “I am pleased to see you, too.”

Loki smiled slightly, though he tried to hide it. While it was true that he may not have mourned the boy, had he died, or even put in any significant effort to keep him alive, he _did_ feel oddly pleased to find him still breathing. He supposed it was because he thought of him as something of an ally, and he needed all of the allies he could get. When had he started thinking of _mortals_ as allies? “What happened to you?”

“I was caught by a sling-bullet; I fell instantly. It seems as though you went on quite the rampage.”

“I did.”

“I do not fault you for leaving me behind, to save Lady Aelia. I would have done the same.”

The god’s brow raised, and he settled himself on the next cot, arms crossed. “You do not _fault_ me? Who do you think you are, boy?”

Shrugging, Caius ignored the question. “The servants say that she was near death when you brought her here. They did not expect her to survive the night.” There was an element of curiosity in his voice, and Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly. What did he suspect?

“Perhaps they were mistaken.”

The boy’s smile was knowing. “Perhaps they were, Asgardian.”

He did not know what to make of that. “You called out to me before the attack began. What did you see?”

“I saw nothing, but I _felt_ something.”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on at the thought of a conversation based upon mortal intuition. “Alright, boy, what did you _feel?”_

“I knew that you would need me nearby. That is why I came along that day.”

“This foresight of yours could not simply have warned us of what was to come?”

“I can not control it, Asgardian. I told you this before.”

“You did.” Loki wanted to be scornful of the mortal’s weak abilities, but even _he_ was not able to harness the power of the Sight, so he held his tongue.

“My sense of dread grew, but I could identify no source. I finally felt them waiting in the woods, and I called out to you. That is the last thing I remember.”

“Well, Caius, you did catch the bandits off-guard. I suppose your gift is not entirely useless.”

The boy smiled, teeth bright against his dark skin. “Why, thank you.” Then his expression fell. “But you do not believe they were bandits, do you?”

“I do not.” Loki watched the soldier carefully, wondering how far he could trust him; he was Otho’s man, but he seemed far more loyal to Aelia.

Caius sighed, sounding almost relieved. “I am thankful that I am not the only one.”

“Who do you suspect?”

“Anyone the master has angered,” the boy replied ruefully, “and he has angered many.”

“The prince intends to wed her.” It was surprisingly difficult to say, and Loki felt anger bubble deep within his chest.

“It has been announced?”

“Not yet. He told me his plans for her.”

“And you intend to thwart these plans?”

Glancing at the door to make sure they were not overheard, the god leaned closer. “Yes.”

“What do you want from me?”

Loki paused for a moment, both impressed and slightly disturbed by the boy’s blind loyalty; in another life, he would have made a fantastic Einherjar. _Pity he’s mortal._  “I need information - anything, _everything_ you can find out about the man.”

“You wish for me to spy?”

“In essence.” Many of the mortals seemed too unsettled to speak freely around him any longer, and while he enjoyed their fear, it was also something of an inconvenience. He needed to find something on Basileus - a scandal, a weakness, a fear that he could secretly exploit. _Something._

“Very well.”

“Why are you so willing to assist me?” Loki asked, a bit flummoxed by the boy’s apparent determination to assume that they were something like friends. “Should you not wish for your mistress to become the most powerful woman in your empire?”

“I have my reasons, Asgardian, just as you have your own.”

Vexed, the god stood abruptly. The boy might be a mere mortal, but he certain _spoke_ with the cryptic vagueness common to every soothsayer and seer Loki had ever come across. It was a trait that tended to drive him a bit mad. “If you learn anything, tell me at once,” he said, and then he stalked away without bothering to wait for a reply. Behind him, he heard the mortal laugh.

 

* * *

 

He bathed and went for a run to clear his mind, trying to pass the time in hopes that Aelia would be awake when he returned, but when he went back to her chamber several hours later, she still slumbered. Lavinia left them alone; the two were currently sharing an uncomfortable, mostly-silent sort of truce. She had barely spoken at all since her outpouring the day prior, and Loki did not feel inclined to pry; he was angry enough over what he’d already learned.

As he sat on the bed and watched her sleep, he wondered once again what he should _do_ with what he had learned; should he tell her? It seemed cruel to keep her mother’s name from her, but then, perhaps the maid had been right, and the memory itself would be more painful.

The girl tensed in her sleep, eyes flickering behind closed lids as she dreamed, brow creasing slightly. _What does she see?_ he wondered. _What does little Aelia see in her dreams?_

_Alfrún._ It was a pretty name. Taking the brooch in his hand once again, he traced over it with his fingertips, searching for some hidden sign, some missing piece to the puzzle. What had happened all those years ago? He knew very little; Aelia had only told him that her mother was a northern woman regarded by the Romans to be a witch, and that she had somehow lured her father from his cause… it did not add up, especially knowing that Otho had been prepared to take Aelia in as soon as she was discovered.

The mortal in question suddenly gasped, eyes opening wide, and he tucked the brooch away and leaned over her. “Gods,” she wheezed, pressing her hand to her forehead, which he noticed was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. “That was most unpleasant.”

“A fever dream?” he guessed, sliding his arm behind her shoulders to pull her forward, propping her up carefully on her pillows.

“Water, please?” Loki handed her a cup, and she took a few long sips before she replied. “I do not know. I was being chased by a great beast, and the world was on fire.”

“A fever dream, then. You have been very warm these past few days.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You are much cooler now.”

Sighing in relief, the girl took another drink, settling back against her pillows. “I feel… much restored,” she told him, prodding at her abdomen with her free hand. “How is it possible?”

“Well, mortal, it is _possible_ because you have been draining me of every ounce of my seiðr. Rather like a leech,” he added, laughing at her look of indignation. “You should be able to move around soon, though it may be some time before you feel truly strong again.”

“I see.” She bit her lip, lost in thought, and Loki found himself incredibly distracted by the innocent gesture; he supposed he _had_ been rather chivalrous for the past few days, so it was high time that he had a reprieve. With that in mind, he took hold of her chin and kissed her.

Aelia made a sound of surprise, but she leaned into him willingly, and he deepened the kiss, trying to resist the urge to do more. When he _did_ finally get too carried away, pulling her into his lap and causing her to wince, he blamed her entirely; how could he respond otherwise, once her nimble little fingers were tangled in his hair?

“Patience, pet,” he breathed, not feeling particularly patient himself. “I will have you soon enough.”

Her flushed cheeks were a welcome sight, a return to some semblance of normalcy. “I would like to bathe, please,” she said primly, “my prince, and then I would like something to eat.”

“I suppose this is acceptable,” Loki conceded, thrumming with pleasure at the fact that he had not needed to remind her to address him properly; he had feared that his obscene display of _caring_ might have destroyed all of their progress. “But do not think that you are going to walk there, girl, and undo all of my work. I will carry you.”

Embarrassment clouded her features, and the god laughed. “Do not look so distressed; I have no intention of having my wicked way with you in the bath… yet.” An almost _guilty_ expression flashed in her eyes, and for a moment, he considered pursuing the reason behind it. _Time enough for that later,_ he decided. “I will call for your maid to meet us there.”

“Thank you, Loki,” the girl said softly, her small smile sending a feeling of warmth down to his very bones. It was a permissible use of his name, he decided, and feeling strangely satisfied, he hefted her in his arms, making his way towards the door.

 

* * *

 

Feeling as if she’d just awoken from a thousand-year slumber, Aelia ducked her head under the water of the bath, relishing the clarity it brought, and the feeling of cleanliness; she thought she’d never be rid of the smell of blood, which somehow seemed to linger even after Loki had healed her. The fact that it was her _own_ blood made the sensation even more unpleasant, and she stayed beneath the water for as long as she was able, exhaling through her nose, willing everything to simply go back to _normal._

When she reemerged, Lavinia’s concerned expression was the first thing she saw. “Please, my lady, do not do that,” she begged. “You were wounded only days ago, and I worry that you are overexerting yourself.”

“I am sorry,” Aelia replied, feeling a bit guilty for having caused everyone so much distress with her near-death. “But you saw the wound; it is very nearly healed. I do not think that my condition is dire any longer.”

The maid pursed her lips. “I saw it,” she agreed. “And you must be careful that no one _else_ sees it, my lady, unless you have some way of explaining how such a devastating injury is already little more than a scar.”

“I know.” It was clear that Lavinia and Loki had come to some sort of understanding while she slept, though she couldn’t imagine how - they both seemed rather tense around each other. Aelia supposed that anything was better than them jumping for each other’s throats, but it still made her curious. “Do you still believe that he is a demon?”

“I do, my lady,” Lavinia replied after a moment, “but he seems to be a protective demon, at least. I suppose we must make do with what we have.”

 

* * *

 

Being scrubbed clean made Aelia feel like a new woman, and she was somewhat annoyed when her newly-bandaged, freshly-clothed self was denied the opportunity to move about the villa freely.

“You were just nearly murdered, girl,” Loki had informed her sternly when she’d tried to walk from the bathing chamber on her own. “By all rights, you should be at death’s door, and you cannot honestly expect to go strolling about the villa as if nothing has happened.”

Shockingly, Lavinia had supported him, and much chagrined, Aelia had allowed herself to be carried back to her bedchamber. The god was right, and it had been foolish of her to think that her miraculous recovery would not raise questions, should anyone notice her up and about so soon.

She was determined not to languish in bed any longer, however, and she sat propped up against her pillows, studying the map of Yggdrasil that she’d retrieved as soon as Loki had stepped out of the chamber to find a servant to send for something to eat.

“Food will be here shortly,” he said, closing the door behind him as he came back to her side. “Do _try_ to look less lively when the servants come in; the last thing I wish to deal with right now is questions about how you improved so rapidly.”

“I will endeavor to look as pathetic as possible, sire,” she replied, attempting unsuccessfully to contain her snark. The god muttered something about all mortals looking pathetic, and she narrowed her eyes, almost certain that he was only goading her because he was cheerful about her recovery. “Has there been any word from my uncle?”

“No, though I am certain the servants and guards are keeping him well-supplied with gossip. I _suspect,_ however, that he is too busy arranging your betrothal to the mortal prince to worry over the particulars, so long as you are kept alive.”

His eyes glittered with malice, and an unpleasant coldness ran through her veins, her heart quickening. “Arranging it?” she exclaimed, sitting up a bit straighter. “It is really happening? How do you know this?”

Loki sighed and his shoulders sagged, an incredibly world-weary shadow crossing his features, and Aelia was sharply reminded that the being beside her, no matter how young he might appear, was more ancient than she could comprehend. “It does not matter. It is something else to deal with, that is all.”

“To deal with?”

“Of course, Lia.” The look he gave her was patient, as if he were explaining something to a child. “You will not marry the mortal. You are mine.”

“I do not _want_ to marry him, in the first place.”

He chuckled. “I know. It makes things much easier for the both of us.”

She supposed she should feel indignant that her own feelings on the matter apparently had very little influence over his decision to sabotage her betrothal, but in that moment, all Aelia really cared about was that he was _there,_ he had stayed to save her, and he had no intention of letting Basileus have her. From the God of Lies, it was best to appreciate the small things.

 

* * *

 

“Why is my uncle allowing you to stay here with me, unsupervised?” she asked him that night, held in the crook of his arm as he told her more tales of the Nine Realms. “It seems very unlike him.”

“He is not pleased with the idea, I assure you, but his prince condoned it, so he had no place to argue.”

She looked to him, confused. “But why would the prince - “

“Hush, child. We have an understanding. It is none of your concern.”

The vague reply only made Aelia more curious, but it seemed to be a sore spot, and she was enjoying the god’s pleasantness too much to pursue the matter. “Will you be fighting again, then, in the next scheduled bout?”

“I can only hope,” Loki replied, an unsettling smile gracing his pale features. “I am becoming something of a fan of the sport.”

“You only say this because you are the champion.”

“I _am_ a crowd favorite,” he conceded. “Foolish mortals. I would happily end them all.”

Aelia grimaced; she preferred not to think of his general disdain for human life, whenever possible. It contrasted too sharply with the way he held her now, inspiring feelings that made her head and her heart ache. “Tell me more about Asgard, Your Highness.”

“What do you wish to know?”

_Everything,_ she thought vehemently. _I wish to know everything._ “You told me of the rain-fire flowers once, and how they inspired many songs of ill-fated romance. Do you remember?”

“I do.”

“Well, I have wondered why gods would delight in tales of such things, I suppose. If everything is perfect, if everyone is beautiful and immortal - “

“Everything is not perfect,” Loki interrupted. “Living with the sorrows of many thousands of years is one of the burdens of being immortal. Many find stories of bittersweet mortality very moving. I am not among them.”

“No?”

“It is the _basest_ sentimentality. Why should I yearn to be lesser than what I am?”

“I see.”

“They are also cautionary in nature,” he continued, ignoring her thoughtful frown. “Though, of course, they are not entirely successful in that regard.” Aelia shivered as his fingers trailed up her arm with deliberate slowness, and she turned her head to find him watching her with an inscrutable expression.

“How long do you intend to stay here with me, like this?” she whispered, not entirely certain if she meant his concerned hovering since she’d been injured, or if she referred to his remaining time on Midgard.

“As long as it takes.”

Smiling, Aelia closed her eyes, pressing closer to his side. Perhaps it was best, not knowing which question she had truly been asking; she could imagine that his response replied to either. His hand moved to play with her hair, and suddenly overcome with exhaustion, she soon fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

He tried to be a bit more firm with her in the days that followed, eager to ensure that the mortal did not get any grand ideas about her overall value to him, but he found it increasingly difficult. Any time he thought to say anything particularly sharp or cruel, he would picture her deathly pale face as she faded that day on the road, and his tongue would still. It was still too fresh a memory, he decided. Things would go back to the way they should be, in time.

And truly, it was not as if the girl was acting _that_ differently towards him; she still deferred to his commands, and she still seemed to fret over his temper and his inclination to destroy nearly every mortal in the vicinity. Even the mere fact that it was now only _nearly_ every mortal that he intended to eliminate was something he considered quite shameful, and it rankled at him. Deciding to spare his mortal pet was one thing, but now there were _multiple_ Midgardians that he’d prefer to leave alive.

One such mortal currently stood before him, wringing her hands anxiously, and he did his best to glare imperiously, though it was the middle of the night and he was still half-asleep. “What is it, girl?”

Prisca’s head nodded in an almost-unconscious attempt at a bow. “Caius, sir,” she whispered, glancing down the empty hallway out of the corner of her eye. “He sent me to say that he would like to speak with you.”

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Loki waved her inside. “Stay here with your mistress until I return. Where is he?”

“Your cell.”

It was not a place that Loki was eager to return to, but he supposed that it did offer more privacy than the infirmary, and he was able to make his way there unnoticed with little effort. “Hello, Asgardian,” Caius greeted, “I have heard several things that I think you might appreciate.”

“Such as?”

“Do you recall me making mention of the prince’s sisters?”

He thought back, trying to recall what had been said; it had not seemed as important, at the time. “Yes. There are two that are near to him in age, you said, and he keeps them close.”

_“So_ close,” Caius said, “that it seems he sent word back halfway along his journey for them to travel north to join him. One of the maids in his retinue told me that they will likely be here in a few weeks.”

Loki’s brow raised. “Why would he summon them north, if he is soon to head to battle?”

“Who knows why the upper echelons of society do as they do?”

_Who, indeed?_ he thought, slightly amused. “Do these sisters have names?”

“Tarquinia and Secunda. The maid I spoke to seems much more fearful of the younger of the two.”

“What else have you heard?”

“One of your former guards, it would seem, does not approve of your current… freedom. Or your proximity to the mistress. He is being very vocal about it.”

“Drusus,” Loki scoffed, disdainful. “Keep him under watch, and inform me if he does anything more worrisome than gossip.” The boy gave a half-hearted salute, and Loki left, eager to return to his bed and his mistress.

He marvelled slightly at the ease with which she wrapped herself around him when he climbed back in beside her, sighing deeply in her sleep. Increasingly, especially over the past few days, his mind would turn to thoughts of what to do with her, once they were on Asgard. Having the girl in bed beside him each night was an indulgence he was beginning to grow rather accustomed to, and the idea of hiding her away from the palace became less and less satisfying.

_If,_ on the other hand, he could find a way to secret her into his chambers in the palace… _oh,_ how delightful that would be, to have his pet right there waiting for him every night! Loki had never attempted to shield such a significant secret right under the Allfather’s nose before, but he was certain that he was up to the challenge; he could keep Aelia close, and knowing that he had managed to hide a mortal away in Odin’s palace, _well…_ that would be a significant bonus.

The expression on her face was peaceful, and had he free rein over his seiðr, he might have pried into her mind and her memories to take a closer look. It could wait, he supposed - no sense in wasting much-needed power on mere curiosities, especially not now. Now that he no longer needed to forfeit any of his seiðr to heal her, he could feel it returning in greater force, a buzzing, tingling feeling that raced through his nerves and along his skin. He was beginning to feel more like himself than he had in quite some time; he supposed he had her to thank for that.

That night, his dreams began with a sort of mundaneness that he found highly unsettling. Loki sat in the vast banquet hall in the palace of Asgard, his mother to his left, Aelia to his right, no disguise cloaking her features. The chatter at the table was ordinary, pleasant, and he turned in shock at Aelia’s laugh, more carefree than he’d ever heard it before, as the Lady Sif leaned to whisper something in her ear. It seemed so _real,_ but he knew it was not. It never could be.

Loki’s sense of dread continued to build, though he could not pinpoint why, as all of the gods and goddesses in attendance seemed content to ignore the fact that an obviously-mortal girl sat in their midst. Then Odin suddenly held up a hand, and the hall fell quiet. “Bragi,” he called out, “I am told that you have a song to sing for us?”

The God of Poetry rose from his place, a smile on his face. “Indeed, I do, Allfather.”

He heard the words of the song before Bragi’s mouth could even open, and cursing, Loki tore himself from slumber, breathing heavily as he sat upright and glared across the room in the weak morning light.

_“It is not the fate for a daughter of man,_

_“To sail over starry water.”_

_The stories and the songs are wrong,_ he thought viciously. _They do not apply to me; I have already kept her from death once. I can do it again._

“Loki?” The girl yawned and propped herself up beside him, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

He did not bother correcting her. “It is just after dawn, Aelia. You may sleep longer, if you wish.”

“I am tired of sleeping,” she said, a hint of frustration in her tone. “I am tired of lying on my back while life goes on around me.”

“It sounds like, little mistress, you are in need of _vigorous_ exercise.” His smile as he watched her turn pink was lascivious; if she was well enough to bait him, then she was well enough to be teased. “I can show you some basic fighting techniques, I suppose,” he continued. “Perhaps it will help us avoid a repeat of this particular situation.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You would teach me to fight?”

“Do not get your hopes up, girl - you could never hope to fend _me_ off, but I would like you to be better prepared to defend yourself from mortal men. You have already proven that you have the drive to kill, after all.”

“I told you that I did not want to!” she cried hotly, and Loki was surprised to see just how _devastated_ she seemed to be over the life she’d taken. Such things never bothered him, and he could not imagine why they ever _would._

“How did you manage it?”

Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip, face scrunching up in thought. “I do not know,” she finally replied, opening her eyes with a look of confusion. “I did not think, I simply _did.”_

_Interesting._ Loki stood, pulling the little mortal to her feet. “Nothing too strenuous for today,” he said. “I have no desire to heal you again, so do as I say.” She watched him with rapt attention as he took a few steps back, and he wondered where to begin, remembering how she’d managed to injure herself when she had so boldy kicked him. “No improvising,” he warned.

“No improvising, my prince,” Aelia replied.

“Make a fist. Not like that, girl, you’ll break your thumb. There, that’s better.” He held up a hand. “Now, hit me. Put the force behind your first two knuckles. Pathetic, try again.” She took another swing, and this time, he could actually feel it. “Again, mortal.”

In her weakened state, it did not take long for the girl’s energy to begin to flag, and he called a halt. “Your focus and force are much stronger when you are angry,” Loki observed. “This is a tool; you must learn to channel your aggression.”

Aelia breathed deeply, pressing her fingers to her stomach. “I would prefer to avoid aggression.”

“It is unrealistic. Are you hurting?”

“Not hurting, really, merely sore.”

“That is to be expected. Sit down.”

Instead, she sprawled out on her back, stretching her arms over her head. “Did I do well?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

She was a precious little thing, he thought, eyes trailing lazily along her form. “Well enough,” he replied, crossing the room to bar the door. “Well enough to earn a reward.”

“A reward?” she asked anxiously, and Loki smiled at the apprehension in her eyes as he came to sit beside her. “I do not believe that is necessary.”

“A reward for me, then,” he breezily replied, resting his hand on her hip, “for my astonishing patience.”

He could feel her muscles tense under the thin fabric of her tunic as he trailed his fingertips along her stomach, and the feral, predatory part of him that he’d managed to hold at bay for what felt like an eternity began to awaken. The girl must’ve seen the shift in his gaze; he heard her breath hitch.

“Pretty little mortal,” Loki breathed, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on her lips. “I wish to see you. Sit up.”

Hesitantly, she did as he said, and he slid his fingers under the edge of the fabric and slowly pulled it over her head, fascinated by the way she shivered when her skin was bared to him. Tunic discarded, he wrapped his fingers around her throat, kissing her a bit more insistently as he pressed her back against her pillows.

His prize stayed stock-still as he sat back and regarded her, trying to think of the best way to enjoy her without causing her injury. Releasing her neck, he skimmed his fingers down her smooth skin, moving to cup one of her breasts. Her lips parted in a gasp of surprise as his fingers deftly teased her rapidly-hardening nipple. _“Oh,”_ said softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That feels _so_ much better.”

“Better?” He halted, appraising her. “Better than what, girl?” Biting her lip, she stared determinedly at the ceiling, flush creeping down her neck. “Ah,” Loki chuckled, understanding at once, “better than your own hand?”

She gave one quick, jerky nod of affirmation, eyes still avoiding him at all costs. Resuming his caresses, he smiled at her distress, her embarrassment. “How _wicked,_ mortal.” _How perfect._ His hand slid lower, across her bandaged belly and down to the cloth hiding the apex of her thighs. “Here, as well?” he whispered tauntingly, leaning down to press a tortuously-soft kiss against her breast. The girl did not reply; instead, a strained sort of whine escaped her throat.

“Tell me, Aelia,” the god demanded, stroking along the thin fabric with just enough pressure to make her squirm. “Do your fingers stray here, when you are alone in the dark, needful and wanting? _Answer me.”_

“Yes.” It came out as more of a whimper than anything else, and the fire in his veins blazed brighter.

“Who do you want for, when you do this?”

“You.” He had already known the answer, but her whispered confession made him groan, and he withdrew his hand, curling his fingers into a fist in his lap, suddenly finding it a bit difficult to maintain his calm, in-control demeanor.

“Show me,” he ordered, suddenly knowing with exquisite clarity _exactly_ what he wanted.

Aelia blinked up at him, a dazed, mortified sort of look in her eyes. “Show you?”

“It was not a request.”

For a moment, she looked as though she might die of embarrassment, and he thought that she might try to refuse him, but then her eyes scrunched closed, and her left hand rose to her breast. He watched, transfixed, as her fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing gently in a clear attempt at replicating the sensations he’d provoked. Her other hand moved between her thighs, pressing slow circles against the thin fabric. Loki’s mouth went dry as her back curved slightly, a shaky breath escaping her parted lips.

She was obviously trying to pretend that he wasn’t there, watching her, and he smiled wickedly at the innocent frustration on her face as her brow furrowed in determination. “Look at me.”

Peering up at him, the little mortal looked almost near to tears, and he smirked, deciding to take pity on her. “You are laughing at me?” she asked miserably, freezing at once.

“No,” he soothed, and then he moved to stretch out beside her on the bed, propping himself up on one arm to maintain his view. “You, sweetheart, are _perfect…_ but I can make it even better.”

He took her by the wrist and moved her hand aside, then returned to carefully slip his fingers beneath the damp fabric, pinning her to the bed with a kiss as he did so; it was fortunate, really, for it muffled both of their moans at the contact, and he had no desire for someone to come breaking down the door if they were overheard. Holding her like this was ideal, he decided, for it provided an excellent view of not only her body, but her eyes, currently dark and glazed-over with need.

Lazily, he mimicked the slow circles she had made, but with his fingertips against her slickness, the effect seemed to be far greater, and she rocked desperately against his hand, searching for more. He was _delighted_ to give her more, and he slipped his fingers lower, pushing inside of her, biting her lip as she gasped, nearly all coherent thought escaping him.

Lips pressed against her ear, he hissed in pleasure as she moved against his thrusting fingers, greedily chasing release. “I am your god,” he said harshly, the feel and the sounds and the smell of her combining with the buzz of seiðr under his skin to make him feel a bit unhinged. She moaned in response; it was not enough to satisfy him. _“Say it.”_

“You are my god.”

“I am your _master.”_

“You are my master,” she sobbed, reaching up to grab a handful of his hair. _“Please.”_

She was so close that he could practically _taste it,_ and his blood howled in triumph. “Say my name,” he demanded. “Say it.”

_“Loki,”_ she gasped, and then he drowned her cry of rapture in a domineering kiss as she arched up off of the mattress, her grip on his hair becoming almost painful.

He kissed her until she stilled, enjoying the sensation of each and every aftershock that raced through her small body. _It has never been like this before,_ he thought, slightly dazed. _It has never been like this._ His own need was painful, demanding, but she looked so delicate and _overwhelmed,_ and the part of him that wanted to break her down, to own her completely, was temporarily sated.

_“I will not call you master, Loki of Asgard,”_ she had said, but _oh,_ she _had,_ and how perfectly delicious it was. He imagined her crying out to him, _begging_ him as he buried himself inside of her, calling out his name as he sunk his teeth into her neck… Perhaps he was not as sated as he’d thought, and his muscles tensed. “Consider this your reward,” he told her, pressing his lips to her cheek, then sitting back up beside her, he retrieved her discarded clothing from the floor. “Get dressed.”

A tiny look of hurt flashed in the girl’s eyes, and he realized belatedly that his words had likely seemed like a rather callous dismissal. He watched as she sat up and woodenly pulled her tunic back on, and he sighed, feeling slightly guilty. “Lia,” he said, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to face him, “I told you that my tenderness would endure while you are recovering, did I not?”

“You did,” she replied quietly, trying to avoid his piercing stare.

“The things that I would like to do to you right now, little one, are far from _tender.”_ He could practically _feel_ the heat rush to her cheeks as her blue eyes widened in understanding.

“I see,” she managed, her fingers digging into the bedclothes.

The god released her chin and stood. “I will return shortly,” he said, making his way to the door. “Do not leave this room without me.” Then he slipped out into the hallway, gritting his teeth in frustration. He needed to release some of this pent-up energy, to calm himself so that he could think clearly.

Killing a few score mortals would likely do the trick. _If only._ He supposed a bath would have to suffice. After calling for a maid to stand guard, he stalked away down the hall, both cursing and praising himself for his benevolence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which things begin to heat up. 
> 
> ALSO, if any of you lovely people are interested, be on the lookout for a Sabinus/Alfrún tale that's currently in the works. <3


	26. XXVI

Aelia stared at her outstretched toes for a few long moments after the god had left her side, wiggling them experimentally, marvelling at the lingering thrum of pleasure that still radiated across her skin. Caught precariously somewhere between bliss and humiliation, she wrapped her arms around her chest, wondering what to do with herself. Slightly sweaty and wishing to freshen up, she eased off of her bed, surprised to find her movements a bit stiff and shaky.

Pouring cool water into the bowl on her table, she washed up as best as she could, then changed into a fresh tunic and undergarments, flooded with embarrassment once again as she did so. A knock suddenly sounded on her door, and she darted back to her bed, diving under the covers and doing her best to look pathetic. “Come in,” she called weakly, bracing herself; she knew it could not be the God of Lies, for he would never bother to knock.

Her heart raced as one of the maids opened the door, bowing slightly as Prince Basileus breezed into the room, followed by one of his own maids, who held a polished wooden box in her arms. “Lady Aelia,” he said, smiling brightly as he moved closer to her side, “how wonderful to see you returned to the waking world.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Aelia managed. “I confess, I did not expect to see it again.”

The prince took a seat on the stool by her bedside, regarding her thoughtfully. _Does he know?_ she wondered, suddenly terrified, her afterglow fading. _Can he tell?_

He waved his maid forward with a lazy air, and she placed the trunk at the foot of the bed, opening it carefully. “There is another game in the arena in three days’ time,” he told her, watching with a slightly-disinterested air as the woman pulled a deep purple, golden-embroidered stola from the trunk, holding it up for Aelia’s inspection. “Your uncle and I think it best if you attend, my lady, if you are able - a strong stance in the face of adversity.”

“I - I must admit that I fear going out again so soon, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” the prince replied, taking her hand in a show of concern. “That is perfectly understandable, after such a vicious attack. It is truly astonishing that you survived. But,” he continued, and Aelia watched with increasing apprehension as the maid spread the fabric out on the bed, pulling scarves and jewelry out of the trunk, “if you were targeted for a reason, my lady, then it is best to show the culprit that he failed, that you are untouchable.”

He wanted to use her. “Am I?” she asked hesitantly, sending a pleading look to the maid who still stood by the open door. The girl ducked her head, afraid to move; Aelia could not truly blame her.

“It would appear so,” he laughed, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “And now, you will have even more protection, for we shall be announcing our betrothal at the game.”

The blood rushed from her face. Though Loki had told her that it was coming, the news still filled her with a sharp sense of dread; she had not expected for anything to come of it so soon, especially with her still in her sickbed. “Betrothal, Prince Basileus? I did not - I do not know what to say.”

“I know this likely comes as something of a shock, Lady Aelia, but you have impressed me with your poise and beauty in the days that I have spent in your home, and your uncle is most pleased with the match.”

“Your Highness, I am honored.” She faltered then, searching her mind for something else to say. He was essentially telling her that she would someday be Empress, assuming they both lived long enough, a dangerous, coveted title she had no interest in whatsoever. How was one supposed to respond to such a thing?

“Take some time to accustom yourself to the idea.” The prince gestured for the servants to leave, and they both filed outside, Aelia’s maid looking back as she closed the door with a slightly apologetic expression. “You will find that I can be very generous, my lady. All I expect in return,” he leaned closer, grey eyes piercing her, “is total, unquestioning obedience.”

“Yes, sire,” Aelia whispered.

“Marvelous,” the prince replied, releasing her hand with a pleased expression. “We shall go over more of the details tomorrow, when your uncle is present. For now, do try to get some rest.”

She did not feel as if she could breathe freely until the door was safely closed behind him, and she sat up as soon as she was certain he’d truly gone, running her fingers over the gifts he had left on her bed. _Generous,_ he’d said; Loki told her earlier that he and the prince had come to an understanding… was that a part of his _generosity?_ Shuddering slightly, she picked up one of the necklaces, a hefty carnelian set in gold, engraved with a likeness of Juno Pronuba, Goddess of Marriage. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Such an _honor,_ she thought bitterly, clenching the pendant in her fist. Somehow, it had seemed that Otho would never actually commit her to a betrothal; he had certainly dangled the possibility for years with no real follow-through, and while she had known that it was a grim eventuality, she had managed not to dwell upon it. It had always been something she simply had no choice but to accept: someday, she would marry some powerful, unpleasant man her uncle chose, would bear him children, and would hopefully have to endure very little else. She remembered telling Loki once before that she considered escaping such a fate to be one of the perks of mortality, and she laughed, a faint edge of hysteria buzzing about her senses.

Now Aelia had faced death, and it had changed her perspective quite a bit.

Basileus did not value her, beyond what it benefitted him; of this, she had no doubt. He was making it quite clear already that his wife would be held to the same standards as his slaves - she would be a unique ornament on display, expected to bend to his every whim. She thought to the way Loki had watched her that morning as he’d made her come undone, eyes filled with lust… and perhaps something more. Then, unbidden, she pictured Basileus leading her to the bridal-bed, untying the knot that would bind her white wedding-tunic, examining her with his cold, grey eyes.

The door suddenly opened, and Loki stepped inside, water still trailing from his long, dark hair. Noticing her expression at once, he froze, his hand still on the latch. “What is the matter?” he asked, and Aelia burst into tears.

“The prince,” she said, brandishing the pendant in her hand as the god quickly moved to her side, crouching by the bed. “The prince is going to wed me,” she sobbed, unable to contain her panic now that the dam had been broken. “Three days. It will be announced in three days, at the games.”

Loki pried the necklace from her stiff fingers, frowning disdainfully. “It will not happen.”

“No? _Look_ at all of this!” She gestured emphatically at the treasures scattered across the sheets. “He expects total obedience, and he means to buy it with his _generosity.”_

The god’s expression was stony, his eyes locked on the display of gifts. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles softly in an absent-minded gesture of reassurance. “Your obedience belongs to no one but me, mortal, and your wedding night will never come.”

Though he seemed confident enough, Aelia was uncertain; she had no doubt that he could forestall things, if he wished, and she knew that he would be more than happy to murder someone if they tried to take away what he viewed as his, but _this…_ the implications of this went far beyond the god’s short stay in her world; if something happened to the emperor’s heir in her home, the entire household would pay the price. She could see no way out.

“Wear his tokens,” Loki continued, a sneer on his face. “Play your part. It means nothing; he is simply toying with me.”

“With _you?”_

“With the both of us,” he amended, finally turning his gaze to her. “Calm yourself, think on more… _pleasant_ things.” His tongue darted out to lick his lip, and she gasped as she felt the phantom sensation of his mouth sliding down her neck, torn directly from her heated memories.

“Did you do that?” she whispered accusingly.

“I am innocent,” the god replied, though his smug smile indicated otherwise. _Wonderful,_ Aelia thought, _an immortal deity finds his otherworldly powers returning, and he uses them to torment me._

A knock sounded against the door, and Loki stood, clasping his hands behind his back. “Come in,” he called, and Lavinia entered, a tray in her arms; he did not seem surprised to see her, and Aelia surmised that he had been the one to summon her.

“Something to eat, my lady?” Lavinia stepped closer to the bed, then froze. “What is all of this?”

“Offer your mistress congratulations, maid,” Loki said sourly. “She is betrothed.”

_“Betrothed?”_ she cried, the contents of the tray rattling slightly.

“Put that down before you drop it, woman,” the god hissed. “Yes, betrothed. Betrothed to your prince, in fact.”

“His Highness came to see me this morning, Lavinia,” Aelia told her, hastily wiping the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. “I am expected to attend the next round of gladiatorial games, three days from now. The prince and my uncle will be…” The words caught in her throat. “They will be announcing our impending union.”

“Oh, my lady…” Lavinia abandoned the tray, moving to perch delicately on the edge of the bed. “Are you…” her eyes darted nervously to the god looming over them. “Are you... _amenable_ to this?”

“My acceptance was not sought. This is how my favor is to be bought, now that things are settled between the prince and my uncle.”

The maid was silent for a long moment, fidgeting with the cloth and adornments spread about on the bed. “Perhaps this is best, my lady,” she finally reassured, though Aelia could see the fear in her eyes. “He is young, at least, and you will want for nothing. You will be able to move far from the influence of your uncle.”

She expected Loki to make some snide remark at that, but he merely snorted. Best to separate them now, Aelia thought, before things had a chance to escalate. “I will call for you later this afternoon,” she said, patting Lavinia’s hand gently. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replied, hesitating a moment more before she rose to leave, casting one final, searching glance at Loki as she left.

“Your maids could use more poise,” he remarked, sweeping the small fortune in dyed cloth and precious metals back into the trunk, which he then unceremoniously shoved under the bed. Retrieving the tray from its place on the side table, he sat down by her feet. “Eat. It has been quite an exciting day, and it is not even noon.”

Aelia, finding that her appetite had returned rather powerfully, selected a chunk of cheese and warm bread from the tray, devouring both as the god watched with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Feeling better, little mortal?”

“Physically, yes, though some of the sting lingers. My muscles ache. Though,” she added, heat flooding her face as she made up her mind to tease him, “I believe that you are at least partly to blame for that.”

“Am I?” Loki grinned, unapologetic.

She plucked a piece of roasted chicken from the tray. Had she ever been this hungry before? “Lok - _Prince_ Loki,” she corrected, “if my betrothed decides to become, well, _affectionate_ with me, what am I to do?”

His jaw clenched slightly, smile fading. “Why do you ask this?”

It was an awkward topic, and one Aelia was hesitant to broach, but her meeting with Basileus that morning had greatly unsettled her, and she wanted nothing more than Loki’s reassurances. “I have always been somewhat untouchable,” she said, “although, of course, I have been subject to contact that just _barely_ avoids impropriety for years. But now, I am, in essence, his property, and I do not believe that Uncle would object in the slightest if the prince decided to do anything premature.”

Loki ate silently for several uncomfortable moments, and she feared that she had angered him, though his movements seemed calm enough. “I will not allow him the opportunity,” he said at last, voice firm, “and if he attempts anything, I will kill him, consequences be damned. Do not doubt me.”

“I do not _doubt_ you, but it is the consequences of your actions that I fear.”

“It is not for you to decide.”

Aelia frowned, but held her tongue; while she did not care for the careless way he dismissed her concerns, she was also in no mood to argue. Perhaps to a god, prompting the downfall of a mortal dynasty did not require much consideration. She, on the other hand, could think of nothing else, and her fear steadily grew stronger.

 

* * *

 

Being the God of Lies and Mischief was not easy, especially since things had become so _serious_ all of the time. He missed the freedom of playing his tricks with no concern for how it would affect anyone besides himself; now that he had apparently acquired a taste for frail little mortals, he was finding it necessary to be a bit more cautious. It was _excruciating._

It wasn’t the complexity of the situation or the careful timing required that bothered him, really, as those were always components of more elaborate plots. No, it was the fact that he wanted something, wanted it _now,_ and he could not have it.

And so, for the next few days, Loki fell into something of a sulk. He’d grown more brusque with the girl, still resenting her for making him weak, and for looking so sweet and innocent while she did so. For her part, Aelia became slightly withdrawn, a sort of heavy resignation settling across her delicate features. He knew that it was because she feared what would become of her, that she did not understand that he knew what was best for her, and he resented that, too.

He had helped her to her uncle’s study when the time came to discuss the matter of her betrothal, though she had begged him to stay behind and let another servant assist her. Loki had no intention of allowing her to be in the presence of Otho and Basileus without him, and he had resolutely ignored her pleas.

The girl’s uncle was practically oozing smug satisfaction when they’d arrived. “My dear Aelia and her loyal cur, right on time.”

Though his blood boiled, Loki said nothing, holding onto Aelia’s arm as she made a rather impressive show of hobbling to the nearby couch and practically collapsing onto it.

“His Highness has informed me that he already broke the happy news. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“You will, of course, be at the arena for the official announcement two days from now. I trust you will be able to manage?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Good. Of course, we will have you taken in a litter to avoid unnecessary discomfort, considering your current fragile state.”

“Yes, Uncle,” she replied listlessly. Loki crossed his arms, fighting the urge to pet her hair, which he knew she found soothing.

“My dear lady,” the prince said then, steepling his fingers as he leaned forward in his seat, “I do not want for you to concern yourself with any of the particulars; Otho and I will see to all the arrangements. All _you_ have to do is show off that pretty smile.”

Her lips curled up convincingly enough. “Of course, sire. It is a happy occasion, after all.”

“Indeed it is.” His eyes met Loki’s then, slightly taunting. “Imagine,” he continued, turning his attention back to Aelia, “in only three weeks’ time, you will be one of the most powerful women in Rome.”

The girl tried to stifle her gasp, but she was not entirely successful. “Three weeks?” she whispered, glancing to her uncle for confirmation.

“Three weeks, Aelia. The ceremony must be completed well before the prince goes on campaign. It is most auspicious.”

“Where will I… where will I stay, sire, when you leave to go on campaign?”

“Here.” Now _that_ was interesting, and Loki’s brow lifted in surprise. “I will want you near to me, naturally. Rome is so terribly far away, and a new bride should never be kept so far from her husband.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Unless you wish to accompany me, Sabina, and revisit your homeland.” She blanched. “Heirs are of the utmost importance, obviously,” Basileus continued. “I will expect you to be with child by the time I leave.”

Eyes wide, the girl managed a stiff nod. _Pathetic,_ Loki thought, _if that is the best he can come up with to threaten_ me. But his little mortal was clearly terrified enough; he would have to deal with that later.

“You may go,” Basileus said with a wave, settling back in his seat. “I look forward to seeing _both_ of you at the games.”

 

* * *

 

The following day, after he had brooded sufficiently over the fact that she did not have faith in his ability to keep her safe, Loki stole a small dagger from the armory and gave it to her. “If I ever fail you,” he told her, “use this, and do not hesitate to kill.”

She hid it under her mattress next to his depiction if Yggdrasil.

_Knowledge of the cosmos and a fear of death,_ he thought wryly. _These are the gifts that Loki Odinson bestows upon Midgard._

He found himself missing her smile.

 

* * *

 

When the day of the arena came once again, an air of jubilation surrounded most of the household, excited for the festivities and for the good humor that was certain to find Otho at such an occasion. The mood in Aelia’s chamber, however, was much more subdued.

She was bathed and polished to perfection, her fading scar hidden away behind bandages before anyone else could notice. Her hair was left long and loose - at the prince’s specific request, she was told. Apparently, he appreciated the ‘barbarian style.’

Loki was fond of her hair, too, and she told herself once again to imagine that she was dressing for him, for _her_ prince. _Her god._ She blushed, fire rushing through her veins as she remembered the way he’d looked at her when she’d been desperate enough to call him her _master,_ when he’d made her come undone.

And so she dressed in the purple stola Basileus had given her, and she allowed the maids to braid one of his golden chains into her hair. The pendant of Juno she placed around her neck, a weighty reminder of what was to come. But Aelia could not deny her devotion to the God of Lies, and she shoved Loki’s golden serpents onto her arms in a small, stubborn act of defiance. The god would notice, she was certain, just as he seemed to notice everything else about her, and she knew that it would please him.

Aelia desperately wanted to please him, especially now. The fact of the matter was that, even despite his decision to stay and heal her when she’d been at the very brink of death, she doubted that he would find her amusing for much longer. She had seen his patience grow thin and increasingly fragile, especially over the last few days, when he’d reminded her strongly the brooding, silent prisoner she’d first met. In the middle of the night, she’d awoken to find him staring at his hand with a strange sort of intensity, bright green light flickering across his fingertips; Loki was ready to leave her world far, _far_ behind, and it seemed as though it would not be much longer before he had the means to do so.

When he left, she wanted him to remember her, and foolish though she knew it was, she dared to hope that his memories of her would endure for centuries. Was it _likely?_ No, at least, not by her reckoning, but it comforted her greatly to dream of such things.

The god had been absent when she awoke that morning, and he did not return while she was being prepared. When she’d tried to ask after his whereabouts, Lavinia had merely given a small, helpless shrug; she supposed he must be preparing for battle, and she tried not to fret. Another slave was sent to carry her to her litter, and she soon found herself en-route to the arena, Loki’s whereabouts still a mystery.

There were gasps and murmurs of surprise when she appeared in the patrician’s box, carefully helped into a cushioned seat beside Prince Basileus as she feigned weakness; it was no challenge at all, for she was so overcome with anxiety that she truly felt faint. _“Sabina?”_ Drucilla exclaimed, face strikingly pale. “I thought - “

Aelia’s eyes narrowed, suspicions flaring. “You thought _what,_ Drucilla?” News of her near-miss with death had been kept incredibly hush, she knew; Otho would not have wanted to appear weak, especially not while he was playing host to the emperor’s son.

The girl blinked. “I had heard rumors that you had been… attacked,” she said, rapidly regaining her composure. “How fortunate that you seem to be well-recovered.” She smiled, but her eyes flickered slightly to the side, and Aelia glanced behind her to see Marcus Juvenus appear at the top of the steps, looking as though he’d seen a ghost.

_Her ghost,_ Aelia realized suddenly, blood running cold. Anger coursed through her then, burning through the fear and the doubt. Turning back to Drucilla, she plastered a thin smile on her face, one inspired by the God of Lies himself; she must’ve done a fairly faithful impression, for the other girl’s eyes widened slightly in apprehension. “How fortunate, indeed,” Aelia replied, clasping Drucilla’s hand firmly as she leaned towards her ear. “Perhaps I simply cannot be killed. There are benefits to having a _barbarian witch_ for a mother, don’t you think?”

Drucilla gaped, and Aelia remembered all those weeks ago, when she’d told Loki she had no drive for vengeance; it seemed she’d been wrong. Her grip tightened, and she felt a momentary flare of satisfaction at the way the other woman squirmed in discomfort. Releasing Drucilla’s hand, Aelia settled back against her cushions, waving for a maid to bring her a blanket.

The prince was watching her with interest, although it seemed that he had not overheard any of their conversation. “How do you fare, my lady?” he asked generously, placing his hand on her arm.

“Quite well, thank you, Your Highness,” Aelia replied, thin, brittle smile still in place.

“You look lovely today, my dear niece,” Otho praised, seeming genuinely pleased with her, for once. She supposed that she was giving him more than he ever could’ve hoped for in regards to her marriage.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

It seemed like mere moments until the gladiators were led into the arena and the fighting began, and Aelia sat in silence, waiting for Loki to appear, or for her betrothal to be announced, whichever came first. She had expected it to be the first thing out of Otho’s mouth, when he stood to commence the games, but he said nothing of her, and she realized that he intended to save the best for last.

Fixing her eyes on a distant point in the sand as she always did, she did her best to drown out the roaring of the crowd and the clanging of metal and the screams of wounded and dying men. She could feel eyes on her, but she steadfastly ignored them all. Instead, she wondered what she should do with the suspicion that the old senator and Drucilla had, at the very least, been involved in the efforts to have her eliminated. Should she tell Loki? He would be furious, and likely murderous, as well.

The day seemed to drag on with increasing sluggishness, and Aelia grew weary; she had not been up and about for such an extended amount of time since her attack, and she began to wonder if Loki had been supplying her with more of his magic than he’d let on, for she had never felt so drained while in his presence.

Finally, Otho stood to announce the finale, and she almost signed in relief, knowing that the dreaded announcement would soon be over. A faint buzz rang in her ears as the prince pulled her carefully to her feet, and she smiled as her uncle droned on and on, cheers ringing out in the crowded arena at the news, with an only-slightly more muted response surrounding her in the patrician’s balcony. “Let us have blood and valor, to celebrate this momentous occasion,” he finally concluded, and Aelia sank back into her seat. _It is done,_ she thought, the weight of the pendant around her neck feeling as though it were crushing her chest. _I am his._

Strangely, as much as she always worried when he had to battle in the arena, the sight of him appearing from the cells beneath the stadium filled her with a profound sense of relief; he might not be right beside her, but he was still _there,_ still strong and proud, still alive. The odds were even more stacked against him this time, and Aelia supposed that it was to keep the crowd excited, but Loki seemed to move with a sort of efficient bloodrage, and his opponents quickly fell as the crowd howled their disbelief and approval.

Then, she spotted movement on the stairs, and an archer appeared, nocking an arrow as he slid up beside the railing. Aelia sat up in fear, gripping the arms of her chair, a cry caught in her throat; Loki was turned away - he would not see it.

“Let us see if we can even the playing field,” Otho said cheerfully, and the archer loosed his arrow.

Loki _caught_ it - caught it, snapped it in half, and dropped its shattered remains into the bloody sand. The din of the crowd reached new heights, and seemingly spurred on by the adoration and his own fury, he made quick work of the remaining gladiators. Aelia sagged against her seat in relief, heart still pounding; how many more times could she possibly endure this, before she went mad?

The god was bloody, but he seemed largely unharmed, spreading his arms wide in triumph as he strolled across the sand, basking in the praise and the fear of the mortals around him. He barely glanced at her, but when he did, his smile was deadly, and she felt a dark shiver of anticipation run down her spine; it was a dangerous look, and one that she had not seen on his face in quite some time.

_What is he planning?_

 

* * *

 

As much as it pained him to admit that he enjoyed anything about being forced to fight for the amusement of foolish mortals, Loki _could_ concede that he appreciated the exercise, as well as the adoration of the crowd. Fighting in such a brutal, messy way made him feel _alive,_ truly invincible - a literal god among men. His blood and his magic sang in his veins, and the rush of battle combined with his lust for the pretty little mortal wearing his tokens to create something rather _savage._

_No more tenderness,_ he told himself, stalking back into the darkness. _No more waiting._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intrigue! Conspiracy! 
> 
> Y'all's comments continue to give me life, I mean it <3
> 
> Now for some shameless self-promotion: if you're curious about our heroine's parentage, check out [The Witch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822638/chapters/31788234)! It started out as a little bit of original character-backstory development, and ended up turning into its own thing, which has been really fun to work on.
> 
> *And* I tried my hand at a one-shot set in the Viking Age, called [A Thief in the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966617). Since I tend to gravitate towards the slowest of slow burns, I'd love to know what you guys think <3


	27. XXVII

She had, thankfully, been allowed to return to the villa ahead of her uncle and the rest of the prince’s entourage, pleading fatigue from her injury. While there was to be a rather ostentatious banquet that evening, it was not to begin until well after nightfall, and most of the patricians wished to linger in town with the visiting royalty. Aelia was more than happy to leave them to their fawning, and she sent all of her servants away once she’d reached her bedchamber, happy for a moment of stolen peace before she had to endure more of her uncle or her betrothed.

Barely any time had passed before the god stormed into her chamber with all of his usual, lethal grace, carefully setting the bar into its place. Aelia stood by the wash table, petrified by the seething, barely-contained energy she could practically _feel_ crackling off of his skin. Loki went and sat on her bed, legs spread wide, looking for all the world like a king on his throne.

“Come here, mortal,” he ordered, eyes frightfully dark. He was _angry,_ she realized, and the fury mixed with something else in his expression to make him appear unnervingly devilish.

Before she’d had a chance to process whether approaching him in his current state was wise, she had already done so, short, hesitant steps bringing her just within his reach.

Loki’s gaze was calculating, as if he were purposefully trying to remain cool as he examined her. Aelia trembled when he reached up to tilt back her chin, slowly trailing his fingers down the column of her throat and chest until they reached the much-despised pendant. Something akin to a snarl crossed his features as his fingers wrapped the stone, and he suddenly ripped it from her neck with a violent jerk, sending beads scattering across the floor.

Aelia gasped, hands flying to her neck, but a warning look from the god kept her from fleeing entirely. “Undress,” he said, dropping the crumbling remains of the pendant onto the floor. “Now.”

_He did that with his bare hands,_ she thought, slightly dazed. _He crushed stone with his bare hands._ Those same hands now slid up he curve of her hips, pulling her closer.

Her fear must have been plainly evident, for Loki’s sigh sounded almost-regretful as he looked up into her eyes. “Perhaps there is some tenderness in me yet,” he murmured, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her close, lips meeting in a slow, surprisingly gentle kiss. Breaking away, he pressed his forehead to hers, searching her eyes. “Any hurt that I cause you, I will soothe. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She trusted him, somehow; gods knew she _shouldn’t,_ but she did. _Is that what love is?_ she wondered. _Love for a God of Lies, at least?_

His fingers teased in her hair, and while it calmed her, it also helped to kindle the burning, needy sort of apprehension that sparked in the very core of her being. “Good girl,” he breathed, then he released her. “Now undress for me.”

Why was she so _afraid?_ She had been bared to his gaze merely days before, and though it had been embarrassing, Loki had been almost-uncharacteristically gentle with her, and he had made her feel things that she could never have imagined. But _now,_ now there was something in his eyes that spoke of finality, of resolve, and it frightened her.

“I mean to _ruin_ you, girl,” he rasped, dark eyes fixed on her face as she freed the pins from the material at her shoulders and allowed the fabric to fall, catching on the belt at her waist. Perhaps he was inside her thoughts. “I mean to mark myself on your very _soul._ You will _never_ be rid of me.”

Whether he was trying to threaten her or comfort her, Aelia could not be certain, but something about the impassioned, commanding manner of his voice struck her in the heart. She saw his fists clench with what she presumed was impatience, and her faltering fingers finally found the clasp on the belt at her waist. The gown from her betrothed was now nothing more than a crumpled heap on the floor.

_That_ had not been so difficult, but now only her underthings remained, and she began to fear that she lacked the courage to continue. “My- my prince,” she whispered, heat rising to her cheeks, “I do not know if -“

The predatory look softened for a moment, and he drew her closer to him, a small, indulgent smile gracing his lips. “You are so _sweet,”_ he said softly. “So _innocent._ It tempers me.” He slid his hands around her back and up her spine, freeing her from her breast band. “But know that in the future, there will be consequences for your disobedience.”

“I did not disobey,” she protested weakly, eyes fluttering closed as he lightly trailed his fingers down her breast, arching slightly in an primal effort to seek out his touch.

“Anything other than immediate obedience is disobedience, my _sweet_ little mortal. And now,” he added, eyes glittering, “you would argue with me, as well.” Her lips parted in a surprised cry as he suddenly gave her a hard pinch, and heat sped through her veins. “But then, you _like_ fighting me, do you not? You _crave_ subjugation at my hand.”

Aelia could not find the words to respond, far too distracted by the way Loki’s thumbs hooked into the waist of her undergarments, slowly dragging them down past her hips. She squeezed her thighs together, a terrible sense of self-consciousness speeding through her as his eyes seemed to devour every inch of bared skin. When her tightly-pressed legs halted his progress, the god simply leered up at her and ripped the sides of the fabric free.

He stood suddenly, snaking his arms around her waist to prevent her from retreating. “That is why you wear these pretty arm-bands, to entice me.”

She attempted to slow her racing thoughts enough to form a coherent answer, but the feel of the rough fabric and the leather of his clothing pressed against her naked skin was strangely distracting, so she only managed a faint “yes.” What she could not express in words, she decided to make up for with action, boldly returning his embrace and dearly hoping that he would be pleased.

As it happened, Loki appeared to be _exceptionally_ pleased by this display of enthusiasm, and he hoisted her into the air with inhuman grace, tumbling them both onto her bed amidst a tangle of sheets. His heavy weight settled over her, and he kissed her with a ferocity that would have been terrifying, had she not craved it so desperately. She twisted her fingers into his hair as he trailed down her neck, teasing and biting with a force that was certain to leave proof. _That is what he wants,_ she realized, squirming beneath him as that increasingly-familiar sensation of molten fire pooled in her core.

When he leaned back onto his knees and moved to unbuckle his belt, Aelia was flooded with disappointment at the realization that he did not intend to fully undress as she had. “Wait,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows despite his warning look.

“No more waiting, mortal.”

The belt hit the floor by her bed with a dull thunk, and she timidly skimmed her fingertips along the fabric covering his chest. “No, I mean…” She flushed, but reasoned with herself that there was no reason to be so ashamed; why should she not wish to see him in the same manner that he saw her? “Remove this, please?”

A feral grin split across his face. “Since you ask so _nicely,”_ he replied, shucking the offending article of clothing in one fluid motion. He stood from the bed to remove his trousers with a sort of shameless deliberation, seeming to revel in her rapt attention. She had, of course, seen him _mostly_ nude before, but this… this was something entirely different.

Loki, apparently amused by her slightly wide-eyed staring, returned to the bed and hovered over her, leaving a frustrating amount of distance between them. “You may touch me,” he said, looking down at her with a smug smile that Aelia suddenly wished dearly to wipe off of his face.

And she did. While he had apparently assumed her to be too shy to ever be so forward, Aelia was, in that moment, driven almost entirely by need and the heady sort of power that came with the knowledge that she was desired by the God of Lies. The surprised, satisfied little grunt that escaped him when she reached out and wrapped her fingers around him made any embarrassment she might’ve felt entirely worth it, and he only allowed her to explore for a moment before he shoved her back against the bed, settling in between her thighs.

“There will be time enough for that later,” he growled against her ear, and then his fingers found their way between her legs, teasing and tormenting her as he tested her readiness for him. She nearly wept in relief from the contact at first, but then the painful ache became more and more overwhelming. Aelia arched against him as the fire in her veins suddenly spiked, wrapping her arms around her back in an attempt to draw him closer. “None of that, you _greedy_ little thing,” he chastened, giving her earlobe a sharp nip. “You may not finish until I am inside you.”

Such words should have shamed her, but she discovered that they only made the ache intensify. She mewled in protest as he withdrew his hand and captured her wrists, pinning them beside her head. “Are you _complaining,_ Lia?” he asked, a dangerous smile on his face.

“No.” The grip on her wrists tightened. “My prince,” she added quickly, and she could _feel_ his excitement flare, an almost-unnoticeable tingle teasing at her senses. _Magic,_ she thought dazedly, but he seemed not to have noticed. He surged forward, pressing into her insistently, and Aelia winced; it _hurt,_ but a perverse sort of pleasure shuddered through her at the thought of being so thoroughly claimed. His eyes burned into hers, and she found that she could not look away.

_I mean to mark myself on your very soul._

“Loki?” she whispered, a note of pleading in her voice, and he relented almost immediately, releasing his bruising grip on her wrists and moving to cradle her face in his large hands, kissing her soundly as he began to move inside of her, the tension and trembling in his muscles belying his affect of control. Wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers into his back, Aelia canted her hips experimentally, trying to chase the release she so desperately craved, though she did not know _how._

He moved to spread her wider, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh as he guided her with a surprising amount of gentleness. She hooked her leg around his waist, groaning as the pace and harshness of his thrusts increased. Loki’s teeth sank into her neck, a sound somewhere between a moan and a snarl torn from his throat as she began to find his rhythm. Unable to resist the temptation, her hands snaked up his back to catch hold of his long, dark hair. She gave it a fierce yank in the hopes that it would draw the attention of his mouth elsewhere, arching her back with a pitiful whine.

The god hissed in discomfort and snatched her fingers away, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. “If you wish to play rough, little one, then I am _happy_ to oblige.” His free hand wrapped around her throat, and Aelia’s eyes fluttered closed, neither understanding nor caring in that moment why that sharp, primal spike of fear only brought her closer to her own end.

_“Please,”_ she begged, dimly aware of how pathetically desperate she sounded, but then, she supposed she _was._ Loki gave the side of her neck one final squeeze, and her heart fluttered with terrible anticipation as his hand moved to one of her breasts, his thumb tracing teasing circles around her sensitive nipple. Another frustrated whine escaped her then, and she bucked against his grip, determined to _make_ him give her what she needed.

“Hush,” he ordered, flicking his thumb over the hardened bud as he gave a particularly forceful thrust, and Aelia cried out as the waves suddenly took her by surprise, crashing over her with deadly force. Loki clamped his hand over her mouth, muttering what sounded like curses in a language she did not recognize. The rumble of his groan as he trembled and spilled inside her, she decided, was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

 

* * *

 

Loki rolled to the side as soon as he had some semblance of his wits about him again, pulling his mortal tight against his chest; he certainly did not wish to crush her. _Although,_ he thought, a lazy, satisfied smirk curling at the corner of his lips, _she does not look as though she would mind._

In fact, the glazed look in little Lia’s eyes was doing _wonders_ for his ego, enough so that he almost forgave her for making him be so _tender_ when he’d set out wanting only to _take._ And she hadn’t even asked his permission for release, _wicked_ thing that she was, her surprise climax pushing him over the edge sooner than he would have liked.

_Disobedient even when she is pinned beneath me, begging for mercy._ Strangely, Loki _loved_ it. He blinked down at her, amused to find that she had tucked her face against his chest in a vain effort to hide her flushed cheeks. The beginnings of bruises littered the pale skin of her throat, and the angry, possessive beast inside of his heart was somewhat mollified by the sight. _Mine._

“I am sorry,” she murmured against his skin. “If… if I was not… I did not know what to _do…”_

“You were perfect,” he interrupted, trailing his fingers absentmindedly along the small of her back. “You _are_ perfect.”

And he meant it. Even with his power suppressed, Loki had never felt more _alive._ Her skin felt so warm and _soft,_ and he reveled in it, fumbling for one of the loose blankets and pulling it over them. Normally, he did not like to linger long in the bed of a conquest, but Aelia… well, she wasn’t a conquest, was she? She was more of a _possession._

She sighed, a tired, sleepy sound, and Loki remembered then that she _was_ still recovering from her injury, even if she was much improved. A wonderfully sluggish sort of contentment tugged at his own senses, and nothing seemed more appealing in that moment than napping with her in his arms. He’d originally planned to take her again, but… well, she needed her rest, and he was feeling rather generous.

Loki could feel her breathing slow as she drifted towards sleep, her tiny form clinging to him. “I love you,” she whispered, nuzzling against him.

He had known it, of course, had seen the devotion growing in her eyes ever since she had first revealed her treacherous, dangerous fascination with him. Yet, something about actually _hearing_ the words took him by surprise, and his body hummed with pleasure.

_You will_ never _be rid of me._

 

* * *

 

A loud banging on the door woke him a short time later, and he groaned in irritation, pressing his face into Aelia’s hair. “My lady!” a woman’s voice cried, slightly frantic, “my lady, the master will be home soon, and we must get you ready for the banquet!”

_The maid._ Loki’s eyes narrowed, but he gave his mortal a gentle shake. She started up at once, eyes wide. “I did not mean to fall asleep,” she said, turning to him with an imploring gaze. “What do I do?”

“Let her in.”

“But,” she protested, gesturing helplessly between them, “then _this_ will be discovered.”

He shrugged and flicked his finger, unfastening the latch. He _was_ the God of Mischief, after all. The door opened to allow Lavinia in, and Aelia shrieked, pulling the blanket up to her neck. The maid went ashen and slammed the door behind her, no doubt terrified that someone else might see.

“Your mistress is rather _occupied_ at the moment,” he said silkily, terribly entertained by the horror on her face. “Perhaps you should come back in a few minutes.”

Lavinia quickly fled the room, and he snickered, pulling the blanket away from Aelia to press a few light kisses atop her newly-forming bruises. “Why did you _do_ that?” Aelia asked, wringing her hands. “Now, she will know that…”

Her floundering made him smirk. “That I have bedded you?” he offered. “That you have taken a _dangerous,_ foreign warrior into your arms and into your-”

“Stop,” she interrupted weakly, for now his mouth had found her pulse, “there is no time.”

“Hmm.” Loki supposed she was correct, though he was loath to admit it. And he _did_ have other matters to concern himself with, truth be told, such as how to murder her uncle and betrothed.

He allowed her to rise from the bed, noting with a slight pang of guilty triumph a few tiny droplets of crimson stained on the sheet. _Mine,_ some part of him howled, while another part cursed himself for not being gentler. _Gentler._ He really was becoming a sentimental fool.

The girl hurried to pull her gown back on, moving with a stiff awkwardness that was really rather charming. “I will have to go bathe,” she said, peering worriedly into her blurry hand mirror. “And you have destroyed my hair.”

“Yes,” he said, entirely unapologetic. Rising from the bed that was much less appealing, now that she was not in it, he snagged his trousers from the floor and pulled them on. “But you made the _prettiest_ sounds as I did so, my lady.”

A strangled, embarrassed sort of groan escaped her, and she angled her head to examine her neck in the reflection. “What about these?”

“Wear them proudly, for they signify that you belong to a god.”

When Aelia turned back to him, he was startled to see tears brimming in her eyes. “Do not take this lightly,” she said. “Otho is gambling an entire empire on my virtue. Either he or the prince could order me killed, or you.”

“Basileus wants me to serve him,” Loki replied, moving closer to stroke her cheek. “You are a valuable asset to him. He will not harm you, so long as he thinks me compliant.”

Her brow furrowed. “To serve him, my prince? How?”

“Consider my skill set, mortal, and I am certain that you can imagine why he may find me useful.”

“He wants you to kill someone?” she whispered, blue eyes wide.

“It does not matter. I would be more concerned with your uncle; he seems far more eager to see me dead.”

“I did not know about the archer.” She looked fretful, as if she truly believed that he might consider her capable of conspiring against him.

“I know, little one. I could feel your fear.”

“Oh.” Her eyes closed, and she leaned into his hand. “Can you feel me now?”

He stroked his thumb along her cheek, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I can. Fear… but also desire.” Leaning towards her ear, he added lowly, “And the desire is winning.”

There was a sharp rap on the door and his hand fell away as the maid reentered, bearing a bundle of fabric and wearing a stern expression. “Get out, demon,” she snapped, setting her burden down on the table. “Before you get us all killed.”

Loki rolled his shoulders, considering how to proceed; he was somewhat sated, and the sharp edge to his vengeful temper had been slightly dulled. “I will leave you to your preparations, _mistress,”_ he purred, snatching his tunic from the floor as he dipped into a mockingly low bow. And then, exuding confidence as only a sexually-satisfied prince among gods could, he swaggered from the chamber.

 

* * *

 

Lavinia turned towards her, face white. “What are you _thinking?”_ she whispered furiously. “Aelia, what are you _thinking?”_

She flushed, but stubbornly squared her shoulders. “I love him.”

“You _love_ him? He is a _slave,_ my lady, and you are betrothed to the future emperor of Rome. If Basileus Maximus finds out that you have lain with a _gladiator…_ if your _uncle_ finds out…”

“They _will not.”_

“Look at yourself! Do you think this Loki is the type of man to be _subtle?_ What happens on your wedding night? Will he sit idly by?”

Aelia ducked her head. _He will be gone by then,_ she wanted to say. _This is all I have._ “Many noblewomen have affairs, Lavinia,” she replied. “Drucilla’s fondness for gladiators is a well-known secret.”

“You _know_ this is different!” When Aelia did not respond, Lavinia caught her by the hand. “Have you considered what happens if he gets you with child?”

She had not, and her head snapped up; was such a thing even _possible?_ Loki was from another world, an immortal. _Not human._ But then, how many children had been sired by Jupiter, or by Apollo? “I will be wed in three weeks,” she said finally. “No one would ever know that Basileus was not the father.”

Lavinia exhaled sharply, and she appeared to almost be in tears. “Your father chose love over duty, my lady. Think of what happened to him.”

Squeezing the maid’s fingers, Aelia gave a small, bitter smile. “A family trait, perhaps. Speak no more of it; I wish to bathe before my betrothed returns.”

“We must hurry,” Lavinia said, blinking rapidly as she seemed to pull herself together. “They will be here soon, and we need to figure out how to cover these.” She tugged Aelia’s hair over her shoulders, arranging it artfully over her shoulders to shield as much of her neck as possible. “Why are there beads all over the floor?”

“My necklace… broke.”

Her lips pursed, but she said nothing, wrapping Aelia in a shawl and leading her to the bathing chamber as quickly as she was able. Aelia’s thighs ached, lending a convincing air to her guise of frailty, and fortunately, the halls were still relatively empty; most of the servants were scuttling about in the front of the villa preparing for the banquet.

She sent Lavinia away once they’d arrived, easing into the pool and scrubbing the sweat from her skin. It saddened her, somehow, to wash Loki’s scent away. _But he will return to me tonight, will he not?_ He had been by her side almost constantly since her attack, and she had a difficult time imagining how she would fall asleep without him. _You will have to, eventually,_ she cautioned herself.

Would her husband expect her to sleep in his bed? Aelia shuddered at the thought.

The stola she wore that night was crimson; she thought it an odd choice, but then, it wasn’t as if her opinion really mattered. The prince had sent it, and that was the end of that. Her lips were painted red, and Lavinia ensured that her hair was down, kept carefully covering her love-bites, which had also been generously powdered. When she looked in the mirror, she almost did not recognize herself; she looked older, somehow, more severe.

_More like an empress._

 

* * *

 

Loki had taken himself back to his dreary cell, hiding away in the darkness to test his magic. The power was growing, though the cuffs still made it difficult to access. Bright green sparks illuminated the dim chamber, adding a ghastly glow to his pale skin. He felt stronger, somehow, after making love to the mortal, more _complete._

_Making love to the mortal._ Loki scoffed. Was that what he had done? He _had_ decided to romance her, he supposed. And really, did it even matter, so long as he was getting what he wanted?

When he saw her in the banquet hall that night, she took his breath away; she had no business looking so beautiful and composed, he thought, when he had left her a trembling, ravished mess. It made him want to ruin her all over again.

The girl’s reclining couch was situated beside the mortal prince’s, and Loki stood behind her impassively, hands clasped behind his back, imagining what he might do to her once he had her alone. She flinched when her uncle leaned over to whisper something to her, and Loki’s thoughts took a darker turn. What _would_ be a fitting punishment for Otho? Loki was fond of his knives, but that seemed… too easy, somehow. A curse, perhaps? And then there was Basileus himself, who _dared_ to threaten what was his; he would suffer for it.

She was never a heavy eater when she was around others, but he noticed that she touched her food even less than usual, her attention fixed somewhere across the hall. He assumed that the object of her focus was the old senator, who seemed to be drinking even more heavily than usual. At first, he thought that perhaps it was due to her general distaste for the man, or the fear that he might make a spectacle, but as the evening progressed, he became increasingly suspicious that she had kept something from him.

“Are you grateful that your bodyguard survived this latest bout, Sabina?” someone asked, drawing her back to the conversation at hand.

“Yes,” she replied, red lips pulled into a tight smile, “though unsurprised. I demand perfection.”

“As you should, my dear,” Basilius added, inclining his head to her. “Even I was startled by that particular… turn of events.”

Loki detected a hint of irritation in his voice, a rare display of feeling. Otho, it seemed, had been acting out of order, and the thought delighted him. _Go on,_ he thought, _destroy each other._ He _had_ always been rather fond of discord.

The dancers had just stepped out into the middle of the floor when Aelia sat up suddenly, turning to the mortal prince with an apologetic smile. “My injury pains me, Your Highness,” she said sweetly, placing her hand delicately upon his arm. “Might I retire?”

“Of course,” he replied, patting her hand. “You were marvelous today, my lady.”

“Loki.” She beckoned to him, and rounded the couch, schooling his features; her bossiness would never fail to take him by surprise. “Carry me back to my chamber.”

“Yes, mistress.” He scooped her into his arms, entertained by her audacity, noting how she sank against him once they were a safe distance from the hall. “You are keeping something from me, girl,” he whispered against her hair. “It would be wise to tell me now.”

He expected her to protest, but she merely sighed, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I believe that I know who had me attacked,” she said.

His grip tightened as understanding and wrath sped through him. “Juvenus?”

“And Drucilla, I believe. I am not certain.” She sighed again as they reached her door, a tired, fragile sound. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

“I will return,” Loki promised, depositing her on her bed. “Go to sleep.” He added just a hint of compulsion to his words, knowing that she was certain to object. Aelia nodded, yawning, and he gave her golden head one final caress before he stormed from the room.

Loki wanted answers, and he was going to get them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quench the burn.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this one! <3


	28. XXVIII

He should’ve known, really. Or, at the very least, he should have been more suspicious. He had seen how little Aelia’s life really meant to these mortal men early on, and the fact that the old senator would try to outplay Otho by simply eliminating his matrimonial alliance to the future emperor seemed obvious, in hindsight. That being said, Loki would never have expected that the drunken old fool would’ve had the nerve to actually _do_ something about it.

Did the mortal prince know the true cause of the attack? Did her uncle? And was Juvenus planning to try again?

His anger churned as he slipped through the shadowed hallways, envisioning a bloodbath. _Soon,_ he told himself. How long would he keep saying that? Perhaps he should start picking them off one at a time. Would that alleviate some of his frustration?

His target was reclining and clearly tipsy when he slipped back into the banquet hall, splayed loose-limbed across her couch. Loki did not mind using himself as bait, but he was surprised at the slight twinge of _something_ (for surely it could not be _guilt)_ that he felt when he pictured how furious Aelia would undoubtedly be at the idea of him seducing her rival.

_Although…_ jealousy was a wonderfully useful thing, and he _did_ rather like the idea of his little mortal attempting to chastise him; it would give him an opportunity to punish her, and he _dearly_ enjoyed opportunities to punish her. Besides, he did not intend to _fully_ seduce the women - the thought was rather appalling - but merely to lure her away and make her talk. And why should he even care? The girl did not _own_ him, not _really,_ and there was no reason why he should not do as he pleased.

As he stood to the side and waited to be noticed, his thoughts began to ramble. She could not possibly expect his fidelity, could she? A little mortal pet, a plaything of a god… she was owed nothing. In truth, he had not given the matter any consideration before; simply getting back to Asgard in the first place had occupied most of his waking thoughts, and Loki had never before had to consider the complications of taking such a… _permanent_ sort of companion.

It certainly was not considered very _polite_ amongst the Asgardian elite to keep multiple mistresses at once, but as a prince, Loki was rather elevated beyond the scope of potential disapproval. Moreover, as the God of Lies, _well,_ no one expected him to be particularly thoughtful to anyone’s feelings or reputations; he had talked his way in and out of more scandals over the centuries than he could recount. But his mortal…

Well, if he kept her in a hunting lodge somewhere or hidden away behind layers of wards in his chambers, it would not matter, would it? If he _did_ wish to pursue other dalliances, he had the entire palace at his disposal; he’d never been the type to invite a woman to spend any amount of time in his chambers, in any case.

The thought of Aelia in his chambers, on the other hand… _that_ did not seem so reprehensible. In fact, he was incredibly excited by the prospect of her warming his bed every night, perhaps even a little _too_ excited. Why should he be so eager to share his private sanctuary with a mortal? _Not just any mortal,_ he comforted himself. _It is only because she is yours._

He amused himself for some time with thoughts of doing wicked things to her on his wide, cushioned window seat, which had a rather marvelous view of the Sea of Space and was practically larger than her actual bed. She would enjoy that, he was certain of it. Then, the noise of the Romans surrounding him became more and more raucous and grating, and his fingers twitched, his thoughts turning a bit more violent, a bit more _rough._ His mortal was a remarkable outlet for his temper, as well as his more _tender_ inclinations, and he imagined how pleasant it would be to spend his frustration inside of her, how satisfying it was to know that she would _enjoy_ it.

“Slave.”

Loki tore himself from his thoughts to find an unfamiliar serving-girl standing at his elbow, the look on her face suggesting that she’d rather be anywhere else. “Yes?”

“My mistress wishes to speak with you.”

_At last,_ he thought, and he followed her over to where the woman lay sprawling, her sharp eyes glued to his form. _Drucilla,_ he said to himself, _daughter of Zoninus, enemy to Aelia of Midgard._ She did not seem very fearsome, and yet she had dared to touch what was _his,_ had dared to defy a _god._ And what qualities did she have to merit such arrogance? None, as far as he could tell.

Oh, the girl had pretty enough features, he supposed, and she was wealthy and nobly-born; he knew many Asgardian women who were similarly afflicted, spoiled by privilege, though _they,_ at least, knew better than to incur his displeasure. “You summoned me, my lady?”

She giggled, glancing at the other woman by her side. “Yes, I did. We wished to speak with your mistress and offer our congratulations for managing to catch such an astonishing bridegroom. Wherever has she run off to now?”

Loki clasped his hands behind his back, tamping down his anger and his impatient longing for revenge. “My mistress has retired for the evening,” he said with as much deference as he could muster.

“And yet, _you_ have not retired for the evening,” Drucilla remarked, a cunning gleam in her eye. “Perhaps the prince has cast a watchful eye over dear Sabina’s nocturnal activities?” The woman beside her let out an embarrassed sort of laugh, and Loki said nothing. “Or,” she continued, tapping a finger to her chin with mock-thoughtfulness, “Perhaps meek little Aelia simply does not have the _fortitude_ to handle a gladiator.”

How he _hated_ her, hated that smug, cruel look on her face. “Very few are able to handle me, my lady.” He clenched his fists behind his back so tightly that he was certain his knuckles were white. “Was that all you required of me?” he asked, knowing already that she would leap at the chance to take advantage while her rival was missing.

“No. The festivities will likely continue all through the night and into the morning, as it _is_ a rather special occasion. Father will likely stay until long after daybreak. I will be making use of the guest chambers, and _you_ shall carry me there, as you seem rather adept at the task.”

_“Drucilla,”_ the girl beside her whispered, half-scandalized, half-entertained.

“Hush, Octavia. Slaves are meant to be useful, are they not? Now, take me to my chamber, slave.” She spread her arms, tittering as he swept his arm under her knees and lifted her from her couch, his face blank; she was not heavy by any means, but she was taller than his mortal, less petite, less soft, less _warm…_

_Less perfect,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully, and Loki’s jaw clenched as he strode from the banquet hall, assaulted by the smell of wine and perfume as the woman wrapped her arms around his neck like a vice.

He had no idea where her guest chamber was supposed to be - he’d never bothered to pay attention to any of the sections of the villa that he had deemed unimportant - but Drucilla waved down another slave in the hallway and demanded to be escorted to her ‘usual’ chamber. The woman was _bizarrely_ indiscreet, and he wondered why she seemed to delight in being so obvious about her proclivities.

_“Zoninus is a terrible man,”_ Aelia had told him once before, _“Drucilla is equally cruel and terribly spoiled.”_

_So_ spoiled, apparently, that she did not think to question the wisdom of trysting with the bodyguard of the woman she’d conspired to murder. _Ignorance or arrogance?_ he wondered, trying to decide the best way to approach his investigation. He suspected arrogance.

She giggled again when he kicked open the door the slave indicated, likely taking it as a sign of eagerness. The sound was beginning to grate dangerously on his nerves, and he fought the instinct to simply drop her on the floor, wondering where all of his usual duplicitous charm had fled.

When he set her down on her feet, Drucilla swayed unsteadily, keeping her arms locked around him. “You will keep me company tonight, Asgardian,” she ordered, tilting her head back to regard him with a haughty expression.

“Of course, my lady,” Loki replied, and he even managed to smile as he said it.

_What does she get from this?_ he mused, sliding his hands to her hips. Did she enjoy the thrill of being with men who killed and were killed for sport, or was it the rush of power itself from having complete authority? He decided to allow her to take the lead, as had no particular eagerness to do so.

“Tell me,” she said, stroking a finger down his cheek, “does your mistress offer you her favor? I never thought she would have the nerve. Little barbarian _witch.”_ She snorted derisively, and his fingers dug into her hips, though the fool woman clearly misinterpreted his ire. “Oh, she denies you, does she? Poor creature.”

Her lips found his neck, and Loki’s skin crawled, though he did not understand _why._ “Do you not fear discovery, my lady?” he asked, and then he began to guide her back against the wall. He might as well get the unpleasantness over with, he decided. “The damage to your name…”

“My position is above reproach,” she boasted. “My father is one of the most powerful men in the northern territories, as is my future husband.”

“Husband?” He froze and leaned back, pretending to be concerned by this revelation. That was a believable-enough reaction, was it not, for a slave to fear retribution from his lover’s spouse?

Drucilla smirked, tugging at his tunic, but he captured her wrists and pinned them to the wall. _“Oh,”_ she giggled. “Yes, I am to become the wife of Senator Marcus Juvenus. But do not worry - he is easily managed.”

_Ah,_ he thought as he finally bent down to kiss her, avoiding her mouth in favor of her neck, _a marriage alliance between vipers._ “My mistress would not be pleased with this,” he murmured, thanking the Norns that he held her wrists; the last thing he wanted was her wandering hands on his person.

“Do not concern yourself with her,” Drucilla replied, a smug gleam in her eye. “I always get what I want.”

_Escalate,_ he ordered himself; whether she was simply obscenely drunk or just too stupid to understand why a slave might _care,_ he could not be certain, but the woman clearly had no concept of self-restraint. A little more encouragement, and he had no doubt that she would say something blatantly incriminating. Kneeing her legs apart, he pressed himself closer to her, and she gasped in delight.

“Always?”

“Yes, in the end. Sabina cannot possibly outmaneuver me forever.” He released her wrists, and her hands found their way to his belt. “Perhaps you might be of assistance, slave,” she added coyly. “You would be _handsomely_ rewarded.”

Loki grimaced; he’d hoped to conserve seiðr, especially since he’d been wasting so much, and compelling others to do his will tended to be rather draining. Normally, he prided himself on the fact that he didn’t _need_ seiðr to make a woman talk, but now... he decided it was worth it, just this once.

He caught the woman by the neck and pulled her away from him, relieved to have her lips off of his skin. “Look at me,” he ordered, tilting her head back so that she could not avoid his gaze. Drucilla’s pupils dilated, her eyes fogging over slightly, and her arms mercifully dropped away from him. “The attack on the road, was it your doing?”

She blinked at him in dazed confusion, and Loki cursed - this _should_ be easy enough for him, but he was still weak, and the reminder rankled him. “Was it?” he hissed, pushing harder.

“No,” she replied, brow furrowing. “The senator… Otho broke his vow.”

“And you knew of it?”

Her head lolled to the side slightly, but her eyes remained locked with his. “Yes. He is going to marry me, you know. I will be the most powerful woman in the North. Can you _imagine,_ a half-barbarian _waif_ on the throne of the empire?”

The wretched woman began turning a bit red then, and Loki belatedly realized that he’d unthinkingly begun choking her in earnest. It would certainly be no great loss, but the timing was imperfect, especially since she had practically announced to the villa that she was taking him to bed. He forced his grip to relax. “Will there be another attempt?”

“I do not know,” Drucilla wheezed, “Juvenus is a coward. He fears Basileus Maximus.”

It was extremely doubtful that the senator would give up so easily, especially with such a bitter harpy at his side; still, if Juvenus was currently too fearful to make any plans, then it meant that she likely knew nothing else of use. _Finally._

He jabbed two fingers against her temple, the sudden blow of seiðr knocking her into forgetful unconsciousness. Loki released her, dusting off his tunic in distaste as she slumped to the floor. “May Hela, Goddess of Death, dream of your name,” he spat, and then he stormed from the chamber.

 

* * *

 

He was surprisingly content to let the matter lie for the time being, deciding that revenge could wait; if he wanted to kill them blatantly, he would have to wait until he was prepared to tear the entire place apart and return to Asgard. Something more _subtle_ might be a better option, something drawn-out and lingering, something that would ensure that they suffered.

But how long would that be? He kept wasting his seiðr; he needed to either get free of the cuffs, or show more restraint. Loki had expected it to be simple enough to avoid using his power, after being cut off from it for so long, but it seemed that the opposite was true - now that he _could_ access it more easily, it flowed back with irresistible force, urging him to make use of it, to show these pathetic mortals that he was a _god._

_Norns,_ how he tired of this miserable place! _I am not leaving the palace for months, once I have returned,_ he told himself. No, instead he planned to bed down in his chambers, eating extravagant amounts of food and soaking in his marble bath and falling into blissful, sated slumber in his massive bed, warmed by his soft little mortal pet. Certainly after this ordeal, he _deserved_ it.

The mortal pet in question was curled up with her back to the door when he crept back into her chamber, and he cursed himself for rushing off and leaving her unguarded; it was careless, and he should know to be more careful. He’d been gone for some time, and the candles in her room had burned out, only thin hints of moonlight managing to stream in through the cracks around the shutters. Loki relit the candles with a wave of his hand; he did not intend to allow her to continue slumbering, and he preferred to have a good view.

Aelia stirred as he slipped beneath the covers and wrapped his arms around her, turning to bury her face against his neck, and Loki sighed in contentment. Her nose nuzzled against him, and then he felt her stiffen, drawing back to regard him with a confused, sleepy expression.

“Loki?”

“Of course, pet.” He rolled her onto her back with a firm hand on her waist, leaning over to kiss her senseless - or at least, that was what he had intended. Instead, her small hands pressed against his chest, halting his progress, and he was so startled by her resistance that he allowed it. “What is the matter?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You smell of perfume,” she said, blinking slowly, her eyes coming into focus.

“Your rival’s,” he replied easily. “Given your revelation, I thought it best to get to the heart of the matter.”

“You did not… you did not kill her, did you?”

“Not yet, mortal. I merely wished to gather information.”

“Gather information…?” Aelia trailed off as she examined him, her eyes narrowing as her gaze lit upon his neck. “There is color on your throat,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly strangled quality. “Why is there color on your throat?”

Loki grinned; he _knew_ that her jealously would be enticing. “I _did_ have to get her alone,” he said, leaning back down to kiss her, shifting his weight to capture her beneath him. “But I did not lie with her.” She twisted her head to the side, but Loki ignored her petulance, satisfying himself with her neck - he knew how sensitive of a spot it was for her, so it would work just as well. He began bunching up the fabric of her stola, eager to be inside her once again, and she gave him an impressively-sharp shove.

“Stop,” she commanded, and Loki sighed impatiently, peering down at her as she glared. He was surprised by the iciness in her tone; she was usually so _meek_ when they were alone, so pliant. Aelia’s fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, yanking, and he growled in an odd mixture of indignation and excitement. “Is Drucilla Zonina your mistress?”

Pausing, he regarded her expression; there was anger there, certainly, but also an intriguing look of determination. “No,” he replied, abandoning his struggle to pull aside her stola.

She tugged on his hair again, jaw tight. “Who is?”

_Where is this boldness coming from?_ he marvelled, finding it delightfully intriguing. “You are,” he said solemnly. “...Mistress.”

If he’d had any doubts as to whether or not he wanted to play along with her little bout of imperiousness, her rapidly-darkening eyes quickly chased them away. And _really,_ he told himself, he _had_ always liked games, had he not? Surely there was no _real_ reason that he should not indulge her impertinence, so long as it was benefitting him?

Or perhaps he was simply irrevocably corrupted by her now, made soft and yielding. He pushed the thought aside.

“That is correct,” Aelia said, and this time, he generously allowed her shove to dislodge him, rolling to the side, delighted when she moved to straddle him. “You are _my_ slave. You are only to touch _me.”_

He saw the fierceness there in her eyes, the look of calculating pride that had reminded him of a shield-maiden on the one or two occasions he had managed to glimpse it. She truly was _beautiful,_ and Loki’s throat felt dry. “Shall I touch you then, mistress?”

“I do not know that you have _earned_ it,” she said snidely, her long hair falling to frame her face as she leaned over him. “And you are so _fond_ of punishments, are you not?”

“I am,” he breathed, sliding his hands to her hips. “How will you punish me, my lady?”

She tugged at his tunic, frowning at it in apparent disappointment when it did not tear as easily as she seemed to have hoped, and Loki was torn between amusement and a terrible surge of lust at the idea that the little mortal thought to ravage him. “Remove this,” she ordered, and he sat up immediately to comply, nearly throwing her off-balance in his haste.

Chest bared, he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her in his lap. “Is there anything else, mistress?”

 

* * *

 

Aelia’s brow furrowed as she looked up into the sparkling eyes of the god who held her, suddenly feeling _much_ less in-control of the situation. In fact, she was struggling to understand what had given her the courage to act so impetuously in the first place; she had been jealous, certainly, an odd, primal desire to claim and mark him burning through her chest. Then, when the god had simply gone along with it… _well,_ the anger quickly morphed into need, heady and all-consuming.

And, much to her chagrin, Aelia did not know what to _do._ She had never expected to be in control, and it was highly unsettling, especially considering the look of anticipation in Loki’s eyes. An experimental roll of her hips caused his lips to part, which she took as an encouraging sign. _You may never have another opportunity like this,_ she told herself, _and you had best take advantage of it while you can._ How often could one reasonably expect to have a god beneath them?

“I must ascertain that you understand your position,” she said, and though she tried to keep her voice firm, she watched him carefully for any unfavorable reactions. “I am the _only_ one who may make use of you. I am the only one who _deserves_ it, having to put up with your wretched mouth day in and day out.”

Loki grinned, dragging her slightly closer in his lap. “You do not care for my _wretched_ mouth, little mistress?”

“No. You are terribly forward. Any other mistress would have ordered you whipped long ago.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he thrust against her suddenly, holding her hips in place so that she could not avoid the undeniable proof of his arousal. “You could _try,”_ he said, clearly entertained by the notion.

Aelia’s cheeks turned pink; she feared that she was about to lose any control over the situation, as was always the case when the God of Mischief was involved. “Please me,” she commanded, willing herself to keep her nerve.

“How shall I please you, mistress? You must be more _explicit.”_ That smug smile was still on his face, and Aelia felt genuine frustration that he would not simply _accommodate_ her. Although, For Loki, she supposed this _was_ being accommodating.

“Touch me.”

He fell back against the mattress, holding up his hands, almost as if in supplication. “Where?”

Her face grew hotter still, and even the sight of the god lying on his back underneath her only did so much to bolster her courage. “My…” She faltered, but she did not wish to simply give up, so she grabbed his hands instead and placed them on her breasts. “Here,” she said, painfully embarrassed by how uncertain she sounded.

Loki’s smile was quickly fading, replaced by something far more serious, far more primal. “Here?” he asked, his thumbs swiping across the thin red fabric of her dress in teasing circles. “Does _this_ please you, mistress?”

“Yes,” she huffed, irritated by his faux-coyness. “You know that it does.” He deftly unpinned the shoulders of her stola, and the material pooled to her waist. “I did not give you _permission,”_ she said sharply, trying to cover herself with her hands.

Loki sighed happily as he pulled her hands away, sounding _entirely_ unapologetic as he replied, “Forgive me, little mistress. I grow too eager.” Then he pulled her down to him for a kiss, and Aelia found that she could hardly protest when he was so occupied with stealing her breath away.

She wiggled against him, eager to relieve the burning pressure building in her center, wondering if it could _possibly_ feel as wonderful as it had before. “That’s it,” he whispered against her lips, his hand on her hip guiding her to a more steady rhythm. “Use me.”

Aelia had not expected that simply grinding against him could make her feel this way - but then, she had not known that _any_ of this could possibly feel this way. Perhaps he _was_ simply using his magic on her, she thought suspiciously, and then his free hand returned to her breast, and she decided that she really did not _care._

“I need to have you.” His warm breath fanned across her cheek, and she shivered, reminding herself forcibly that she should not capitulate so easily.

_Make him beg,_ some wicked voice inside of her whispered, _as he always does to you._ “You cannot.”

But Loki was not the type to _beg,_ she realized, he was the type to _bargain,_ and a cunning gleam shone in his eyes as he rocked her hips against him a bit more insistently. “If I can satisfy you like this, _little mistress,_ will you consider me adequately atoned?”

“I -“ She gasped, startled, as he brushed her hair aside so that his lips could find her throat. _It is not fair_ , she thought. _It is not fair, for him to bewitch me so easily._

 

* * *

 

How _upsetting_ it was, Loki thought, to be so easily bewitched by a mortal girl, to be so captivated by her sweet sighs and groans and her pretty blushing cheeks, by her shy innocence and her hidden fire.

_Norns,_ if he did not bring her to her end quickly, he was not certain that he could last, and he was determined to be inside her before he was done. _You could easily roll her over and take her,_ his helpful inner voice reminded him. But no, he wanted to keep to this little game, finding it shockingly enticing; there was something truly magnificent about _knowing_ that she wanted him so badly, entirely of her own volition.

She _wanted_ to use him. Loki knew that he should likely be offended that any woman, much less a _mortal,_ would _dare_ presume to use the Prince of Asgard for her own whims, but he was far too aroused to care. _There were no ballads to warn of_ this _threat,_ he thought, a rueful smile on his lips.

Her breath began to come in short pants, and his fingers dug into her flesh, though she certainly did not seem to need his encouragement any longer. He suspected that she was close when she became more fierce, her kisses rough. When she finally did reach her climax, she seemed almost startled by it, a rough groan pulled from her throat as her teeth sank into his lower lip.

It _hurt,_ and Loki _loved_ it, some inner demon howling in triumph that he’d been the one to turn such a tame, innocent little creature into something so feral, so _wanton._ It was _certainly_ worth the indignity of calling her mistress, if only every now and then.

He jostled her as he lifted his hips, fumbling desperately to free himself from his trousers, and he was thrilled to find that she wore no undergarments. The gown, he decided to spare, but he bunched it up about her hips, eager to see what he could already feel.

“I have pleased you, mistress?” he asked, dragging her down to press against him. There was a dazed, far-away look on her face, and he watched, fascinated, as she bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes.”

He aligned himself and began guiding her down, hissing with relief as the feel of her somehow managed both to soothe and to worsen the terrible, fierce ache that consumed him. “Am I forgiven for my transgressions?”

“Yes,” Aelia whispered, and he tried to be gentle as he filled her, for he knew that he had likely left her sore. It was the ultimate test of his patience, and sweet relief flooded through him as she leaned forward and pressed her hands to his chest, rolling her hips a few times with a look of studious concentration.

It was a bit overwhelming, though he was ashamed to admit to himself that a mere _mortal_ could leave him breathless, and he let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes half-closed.

Her movements stopped, and she peered down at him with a concerned frown. “Is this…?” She trailed off, her fingers digging into his chest as she slowly raised and lowered herself, watching his face with rapt attention.

“Yes,” he managed, and it was not long before she began to grow rather loud - it was quickly becoming one of his favorite traits, he decided, though he sincerely doubted that she was aware of it. He tugged her down by her hair to muffle her cry with a kiss as she fell over the edge once more, pulling him along with her.

He kept up his languid exploration of her mouth as they stilled, spent and exhausted, her tremors making him feel all the more satisfied. This was just a _taste_ of what his life would be like once he was free of this wretched realm, he thought, and he smiled to himself as he rolled to the side and tucked her firmly against his chest. Then, he could have this, have _her,_ whenever he wanted.

“I am sorry to stifle those pretty cries of yours,” he teased, ruffling her hair as slumber began to call to him. “But once we are on Asgard, you may be as loud as you like.”

Content and tired and fully absorbed in his own warm bubble of pleasure, he did not notice the way Aelia tensed at his words. “Asgard?” she asked hesitantly.

Loki hummed in acknowledgment, pressing his nose against her hair. She smelled pleasant - she always did - and he found it oddly soothing. “In the palace,” he mumbled. His mortal said nothing more, and sleep quickly claimed him.

 

* * *

 

Aelia did not fall asleep for some time after that, pondering the god’s words; did he _truly_ imply that he planned on taking her from her home? From her _world?_ What had become of his assertions that mortals did not belong in the Realm Eternal? And was his intention simply to take her, with no thought to even _ask_ her about it? But of _course_ it was - when had Loki bothered to ask her opinion about anything, unless it directly benefited him?

Despite all of Loki’s fervent claims that she was his, the thought had never crossed her mind that he might genuinely intend to keep her once he had escaped captivity. There was no place for her in his world, was there?

And what would happen when the years of her short mortal life ran out? Would he tire of her and return her to her world long before then? Would he dispose of her once he’d lost interest, or when her youth began to fade? Had he considered it at _all?_

It was too much to take in, this off-hand revelation, and she buried herself against his bare chest, telling herself to simply let go and enjoy the moment.

After all, who knew how many more they might have?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I've updated this one! Life has been pretty rough on all fronts for the last few months, and it's had a major impact on my time/ability to focus on my lengthier, more-involved stories. Major writer's block mode! Anyways, I feel like I'm getting my groove back, so I'm hoping to get back into a more regular update cycle. I can't tell you all how much I love your comments/feedback - I go back and re-read them all the time, and it keeps me smiling and inspires me to write more! <3
> 
> Side note: I made a little Gladiator doodle that ended up reminding me of the illustrations in my old Latin textbooks and tossed it up on my [Tumblr](https://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/post/173529956921/title-the-gladiator-stranded-alone-and). If you ever want an entertaining Latin experience, the Cambridge Latin Course has some of the funniest, weirdest stories of any textbook I've ever seen. 
> 
> <3  
> MoA


	29. XXIX

She woke before him the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. Loki was still wrapped around her, loose-limbed and heavy, and Aelia twisted in his arms to study his face. He looked remarkably at peace, a certain softness to his features that she’d never before noticed. With all of her heart and soul, she wished that she could simply freeze them both in time, in this moment.

In such moments, she could almost forget who she was, who  _ he _ was. She could almost pretend that she wasn’t a mortal and that he wasn’t a god, and that they actually had a chance at something lasting.

Because despite Loki’s offhand mention of taking her to Asgard, Aelia did not see any possibility of their story ending in anything but heartbreak; even if he managed, somehow, to take her away to his realm of gods and goddesses, she would never belong. He would stay youthful and strong, and she would fade away, eventually dwindling into nothing more than a distant memory. 

Tears blurred in her eyes. Love was foolish, was it not? 

Wiping away her tears, Aelia peppered small kisses along his jaw. Something inside of her urged her to touch him and treasure the opportunity to do so as much as possible. 

Loki awoke, slowly blinking at her with bleary eyes. A small, lazy smile tugged a his lips. “Aelia,” he said, and the softness in his expression made her heart skip.

“My prince.”

A huff of laughter escaped him at that, and he leaned his forehead against hers, so close that she could easily make out the blue and green flecks in his eyes. “I have decided that ‘Loki’ will suffice, when we are like this.”

Warmth flooded through her, a faint flush heating her cheeks.  _ “Loki.” _

“Though I do, of course, expect you to show the proper reverence in all other situations.”

He may have been teasing, or he may have been entirely serious; with the God of Lies, it was often difficult to tell. “Of course.”

But then his smile faded, and he raised his fingers to trail along her cheeks. “You have been crying,” he said. “What is the matter?”

Aelia’s heart pounded; she feared his reaction, were she to introduce the subject of the future and his plans for her. “It is nothing, truly.”

“You should know by now,  _ sweetheart, _ that lying to me is entirely futile.”

_ Only Loki can make an endearment sound so much like a threat,  _ she thought. “It is only that I worry about what is to happen next,” she said quickly. That was hardly a lie - it was simply an omission of the details. 

“Ah.” The god’s look of contentment returned, and Aelia bit her lip as his hand slipped beneath the blanket to smooth along the bare skin of her waist and hip. “You have nothing to fear. I will see to it that justice is appropriately meted out, I assure you.”

It was helpful, she supposed, that Loki was inherently rather selfish; he could not guess at the true cause of her concern, because he had given no thought as to how it would make her  _ feel. _

When he rolled her onto her back and almost-immediately managed to settle himself between her thighs, Aelia let out a surprised huff. “It is morning,” she said, tangling her fingers in his hair as he lowered his head to kiss her neck.

Loki pulled away and hovered over her, a wolfish smile on his face. “And I cannot desire to play with my mortal in the morning?”

The roll of his hips sent the increasingly-familiar heat spiraling through her, and she gasped, pulling him closer. “You can,” she managed, “but quickly, for I fear that we do not have much time.”

He laughed. “It will be enough.”

 

* * *

 

It was embarrassing to her, the fact that she was covered in sweat and so terribly disheveled. Loki, in contrast, did not seem to mind in the slightest, contentedly licking the salty skin of her neck as she tried to catch her breath.

“That did not take long, little mortal. I think that we can spare a few moments more.”

“I must  _ vehemently _ disagree, my prince. I am expected to be up and presentable, you know, particularly after the announcement that Basileus Maximus intends to wed me.  _ And _ we have guests staying in the villa, as well.”

“I suppose you have a point. Very well.” Loki sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching languidly. “I do look forward to the day this charade ends, when I no longer have to fret over things as bothersome as  _ time constraints _ and  _ responsibilities.” _

“Are you not a prince? Do princes in your world not have responsibilities?”

He grinned. “We have them, of course, but I am rather selective as to which I choose to attend to.”

Given what she’d seen of him in the short time he’d been in her company, that did not surprise Aelia in the slightest. There was a part of her that wished to ask him just how he expected  _ her _ to spend her time if he truly planned on taking her to the Realm of the Gods, but he seemed to be in a very pleasant mood. She did not want to risk upsetting the peace. 

It was still relatively early in the morning, and Aelia managed to freshen up before the servants came to escort her to the bathing chamber. Loki had disappeared - to where, she was not entirely certain, but she assumed that he knew best. She tried not to think about the fact that he was likely off plotting murder. 

If any of the servants had suspicions about her relationship with her slave, they certainly hid them well; Aelia had no doubt that rumors were circulating behind her back. There always  _ were _ rumors, in situations such as these. Otho would likely be apoplectic, were it not for her current position of favor with the emperor’s son. 

Yes, these were  _ strange _ times, indeed. 

One of her uncle’s slaves came by as she was getting dressed to inform her that she was expected to attend lunch and dinner - if her  _ condition _ permitted it. There would be trouble if she refused, she had no doubts. The powers-that-be were putting on a show, and she had somehow ended up the lead performer. 

It was fortunate, indeed, that her upbringing had trained her to be such an effective actress.

Since she had very little time to simply be alone these days (and it seemed like a trend that was likely to continue), Aelia was delighted when she was finally able to send the servants away and have her room to herself once again. She had spent the majority of her life trying to avoid attention, and she craved the peacefulness of hiding away in her room, mostly-overlooked and ignored.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aelia retrieved her embroidery basket and pulled out the darkly-colored tunic that she had begun to make for the wayward god who’d captured her heart. It was silly and too sentimental, she feared, for Loki claimed to detest sentiment, but the thought of him wearing something she’d created just for him made her heart flutter, all the same.

And the things he’d given her, the drawing of Yggdrasil, the arm-bands… could that be something like what he considered courtship? 

_ No, _ she told herself, it was foolish to even dream of such a thing, even if these little tokens did remind her of his descriptions of Asgardian courtship. No, the God of Lies was far too proud to pay court to a mortal, even one he’d bedded. 

Her face turned crimson from even  _ thinking _ such things; what was  _ happening _ to her?

Stitching allowed her to drown out everything else, and she managed to get quite a bit done before she was interrupted; it was Caius, this time, and she shoved her embroidery basket back into her trunk, flustered as if she’d been caught doing something dreadful. 

Perhaps crafting tokens of love for a murderous prince-among-gods  _ was _ something dreadful.

“Mistress,” he said, a hint of a knowing smile in his eyes, “you look well.”

“Well enough,” Aelia managed, wondering how much he really  _ knew. _ “All things considered.”

“Your Asgardian is unable to attend you at the moment. He is… occupied. But I am here to make certain that you are well-protected.”

“Occupied?” 

A knot of dread formed in her stomach, and she was not entirely certain of the cause - was it because she feared that he was doing something deadly, or because of the pang of jealousy that coiled through her at the idea that he may be off ‘collecting more information’ from one of her rivals? It was  _ foolish _ of her to think such things, and embarrassment washed over her.

“Plotting, I should say. I am certain that you know the cause, mistress.”

“Ah, I see.”

“When you are ready to go and join the rest in the dining hall, mistress, I will accompany you.”

“It is likely best that we go now, then,” Aelia replied, reluctant to leave her sanctuary. “My uncle does not like to be kept waiting, and neither does my betrothed.”

“No, they do not.” And then he knelt before her, taking her entirely by surprise, his fist clenched over his heart. “But you should know, Lady Aelia, that you have my undying loyalty.  _ Only _ you.”

She faltered in the face of such a declaration and such an odd gesture; perhaps it was a custom from his homeland. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Thank you, Caius. You have always been very kind to me. And  _ I _ swear that I will do my very best to keep you from harm’s way.”

“Oh, I would not worry about that if I were you, my lady.” The smile was still there as he rose to his feet, though it was shadowed by something solemn. “What will be, will be.” Then, he grinned. “Gods willing.”

“Gods willing,” she acknowledged, eyes narrowing in suspicion as they made their way from her chamber, collecting her entourage of maids.

_ He knew. _

 

* * *

 

Drucilla Zonina was driving Aelia mad, sending smug looks her way throughout the meal. Whatever might have  _ actually _ happened last night, the fool woman clearly thought that it was something to gloat over. 

Had Loki lied?

But no, the way he’d looked at her last night, the heat in his eyes when he’d gone along so easily with her little bout of...  _ impulsivity, _ that did not speak of a lie. If anything, he’d looked almost  _ adoring. _

She stabbed her knife into the meat on the tray before her, perhaps a little more violently than was necessary, for she saw Lavinia’s brow raise slightly in surprise. If only she could get her hands on Drucilla… But what would she do? And what was this… this  _ aggression _ of hers? Always before, she had been inclined to avoid any confrontation, but now, she found herself wanting to go on the attack. 

Was Loki to blame, or was it her barbarian blood, after all, coming to the surface after all these years of abuse and neglect? Either way, it was cause for concern.

Aelia brushed off inquiries as to the whereabouts of her slave, though Basileus Maximus gave her a look that left no doubt in her mind that he was curious. The  _ last _ thing she needed was a curious betrothed; he owned her now, just as surely as Otho had, and he could change his mind about his strange little  _ arrangement _ with Loki at any time.

Fortunately, as infuriating as the meal was, she managed to drown most of it out, and she was able to excuse herself after an acceptable amount of time had passed. As Basileus kissed her hand and bid her farewell, she wondered, though only briefly, if it would be best for her to simply tell him that he was dining with some of the very people who’d conspired to have her murdered.

Would he care? Would he actually do anything about it? It was an affront to him, after all; it would stand to reason that he would be obliged to defend the honor of his soon-to-be wife. But Aelia did not trust him, and she worried what Loki might do if she acted without his approval, so instead she smiled sweetly and expressed happiness that she would see him again that night.

_ Lies, lies, and more lies. _

She could hardly blame Loki for that - the entirety of her life had been forged around being something that she was not. How  _ odd _ it was, that the God of Lies had managed to see more of her true self than anyone else. 

Her maids seemed determined to keep her in their sights for the afternoon, Lavinia in particular, so she retired to the library with her entourage, pretending to read while she brooded. Irritation and anger bubbled in her chest, emotions best left buried. Why were they spilling over and rising to the surface now?

“Lavinia,” she said, “do you happen to know if there are any records kept in the villa from the days when my father was commander?”

The handmaiden paled - Sabinus was not often spoken of, and when he was, Aelia was never the one to make mention of him. “If there  _ are, _ my lady,” Lavinia replied carefully, “then your uncle likely keeps them somewhere secure. I do not know of any.”

“There must be, surely. It was an important time in the empire’s northern expansion. Whatever became of him, he was still a significant contributor to the campaign to push the borders. Is that not so?”

“It seems likely.” She was clearly ill-at-ease, and Aelia could not blame her; while she trusted all of her maids to some degree, she could not say with absolute certainty that all of those present would not report her words to Otho. “Perhaps… perhaps the prince might be of assistance? He is well-educated, and well-versed in the empire’s history, I have no doubt. And I am sure that he would be happy to discuss it with you, my lady, as his future consort.”

“Hmm.” It was a reasonable response, for Otho could not truly fault her from having some degree of curiosity over her father, could he? And as for Basileus Maximus… well, he seemed to  _ like _ that she was an oddity; he would likely be delighted to tell her just how  _ treasonous _ her father was, how she had come about from his union with a  _ barbarian. _

She needed to learn to be more cunning. 

Luckily enough, she knew  _ exactly _ which god to pray to for guidance.

 

* * *

 

Loki cursed, rubbing at the skin around his wrists, now singed and stinging and painfully raw. He  _ could not _ get the damned cuffs off, no matter what he tried. While he’d hoped to find a more elegant solution than simply blasting the things off with an over-accumulation of repressed seiðr, it appeared that he would have no choice. No spell he’d attempted had managed to budge them in the slightest. 

The only thing, in fact, that had  _ really _ had any effect on the bindings was blood.  _ Mortal _ blood.

_ His _ mortal’s blood.

Grimacing, he stood, stretching in the dim light of his cell. He never would have expected that this  _ dreadful _ little box would have become something of a sanctuary for him during his time on Midgard, yet here he was, plotting and scheming and experimenting with his magic, a cruel parody of his study in the palace of Asgard.

He did not enjoy being away from Aelia for such an extended period of time, but it was for the best; when he was around her, it was difficult for him to focus on his plans to escape, or his plans for blood and vengeance…  _ particularly _ now that he’d acquired a taste for her. When she was near, pretty and blushing and terribly enticing, all Loki could think of was what he wanted to do  _ to _ her. It was woefully unproductive.

As he emerged from his cell, he spied Drusus lingering further down the hallway, and whatever good humor still remained in him from his morning play with the little mistress quickly soured. 

The soldier waited for Loki to draw near him, one hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his shortsword. He was sorely tempted to bark at the boy to go ahead and  _ try _ it; he  _ was _ in need of mortal blood, after all. 

But he had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to Aelia’s breaking of the curse than her blood alone. Perhaps it was her adoration, or her purity, or simply her willingness to sacrifice herself for his sake. Either way, he doubted that the mortal man’s blood would prove very useful.

It  _ would _ be satisfying to spill it, all the same.

“Slave,” Drusus spat, moving forward to block his path.

_ Ah, well, _ Loki thought,  _ I made every attempt to spare him.  _ “Move aside.”

“What?” The mortal looked ready to burst with rage, and he reeked of wine.  _ Pathetic. _

“I said  _ move, _ cur.”

Then the point of a blade was suddenly hovering at his throat, and Loki found himself caught somewhere between rage and amusement. “You think that you can command  _ me? _ A  _ citizen _ of Rome? All because the  _ mistress _ is a barbarian  _ whore _ who will spread her legs for -”

The sword clattered to the floor as Drusus’s head collided with the stone wall, a satisfying crack reverberating in Loki’s ears. His fingers dug into the man’s short hair as he watched with disinterest the blood trickling down the stone - mortals broke so  _ easily. _ The elbow to his ribs did little to phase him, and he was preparing to draw him back and slam his skull into the wall with a bit more force when a muted shout came from down the hall.

“Asgardian, wait!”

Loki’s grip tightened on Drusus’s hair, and he clamped a hand over the mortal’s mouth for good measure - once he realized he was not going to fight his way free, he would likely try to summon aid - and then he turned towards the familiar voice.

He supposed it was lucky that Caius had found him, and not someone else. 

_ “What are you doing?” _

He did not know what to make of the hissed query, for it seemed rather  _ obvious _ what he was doing. “I was provoked.”

Caius sighed. “Your presence is requested elsewhere.”

The soldier was struggling in earnest now, trying to drag Loki’s hand from his mouth; it was actually a bit impressive, considering the force of the blow he’d sustained.  _ Brains like a rock troll, _ Loki mused. “Give me a moment to finish  _ dealing _ with this.”

“No, release him. He attempted to damage the master’s property, and I would say that he has been suitably punished for it. Is that not so?”

There was something in his eyes that Loki could not place, something that demanded trust - had he seen something? Had one of his ridiculous  _ visions? _ Groaning in irritation, Loki did as he asked, releasing Drusus so suddenly that the mortal fell to the floor in an ungainly heap. Perhaps it was for the best, after all. Killing one of Otho’s men without a real plan for disposal was too impulsive - he shouldn’t risk it.

But the fact that the scum had the  _ nerve _ to call his pretty,  _ sweet _ little mortal pet a  _ whore…  _ Loki gave him a sound kick for good measure, and Drusus moaned, clutching his head as blood spilled onto the floor. It seemed that he was nearing unconsciousness. 

“Go,” Caius said, crouching down next to his injured compatriot with a look of disgust. “I can deal with this.”

“Not in the same manner that I would, I imagine.” He frowned at the blood on his hand; he did not particularly wish to wipe it on his tunic, as his clothing was pitiful enough as it was. 

“I am of a higher rank. I will deliver him to the infirmary and make a report. It will not be questioned. Now, go. You are needed in the garden.”

Loki huffed in irritation, but did as he was bidden; at least now, perhaps Drusus and any of the other soldiers with wagging tongues would know to stay out of his way. 

He stopped by Aelia’s chamber on his way, washing his hands in the half-full basin, the water taking on a faint pink tinge. Leaving a bloody mess in his mortal’s room was not particularly ideal, but he did not wish to risk the longer journey to the bathing chamber. With all of the guests staying in the villa, it was likely to be occupied at this time, and the barbarian gladiator showing up with blood on his hands was certain to draw questions.

She was perched on the bench when he arrived, taking in the afternoon sunlight with the maid Prisca at her side, and for a moment, he simply stood next to one of the columns and watched her. Her face was upturned, catching the rays of the sun, the light shining in her golden hair. He might’ve thought her a pretty little elf-maid, had he spied her on some other realm.

Aelia was… well, there was something  _ enchanting _ about her, something sunny, something that  _ ached _ to burn bright, despite a lifetime spent in the shade. Whatever that  _ something _ was, Loki yearned to capture it and consume it, to keep her wholly and irrevocably  _ his. _

_ To pull her into his darkness.  _ Glancing down at his hands, he could almost still see the blood there. Mortal blood. And once, it had been  _ her _ blood. 

Loki was hit, suddenly and with terrible force, with the full weight of the fact that Aelia  _ was _ going to die. Sometime, somewhere, mortality would catch up with her; that was simply a reality.

_ Pay heed to this tale, for the lesson is clear; _

_ Beware Embla’s fair young daughter, _

_ For all your love cannot keep Death away… _

It did not matter. 

_ That _ is what he told himself, clenching his fist as the heavy weight of dread in his chest gave way to something more akin to  _ rage _ \- rage towards _ her, _ towards her realm, towards her  _ entire _ thrice-accursed mortal race. There had never been any  _ doubt _ that she would eventually perish, so why should it bother him now? He’d chosen to spare her and romance her because she was pretty and he wanted to bed her, to  _ use _ her.  _ Nothing _ had changed - there was never any way that it  _ could _ have changed.

_ No way at all. _

 

* * *

 

She felt eyes upon her, and she  _ knew,  _ with an odd sort of certainty, that it was him. There was something very  _ distinct _ about the presence of the god, something almost elemental, like the taste of a storm in the wind. Aelia supposed that it made sense - he was something larger-than-life, after all.

“Loki?” she called, turning to find him standing in the shadow of one of columns surrounding the small kitchen garden. Raising her hand to shield her eyes, Aelia squinted to make out his form, for the sharp contrast in light was nearly blinding. He looked to be in a temper; she could see it in the set of his jaw, in the way that his fists clenched at his sides as he slid from the shadows and stalked towards her.

Her pulse sped. “Prisca,” she said, “you are dismissed until dinner.” 

As the other woman scurried away, Aelia steeled herself, because the eyes of the man who neared her now were not those of the teasing lover who’d left her cherished and breathless that very morning.

No,  _ these _ were the eyes of Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard,  _ God of Lies. _

 

* * *

 

Despite his wrath, as Loki dropped to his knee before her, he tried to remind himself that taking his temper out on the girl would do him no favors; he liked having her needful and wanting, after all. 

“You summoned me?”

“I did, yes.” There was hesitancy in her eyes. “I was worried for you. With all that is happening…”

“It is none of your concern. Did I not say this already?”

His mortal bit her lip at the harshness in his tone, and he tried to focus on that, tried to focus on the fact that she feared him. She  _ should _ fear him. 

“Your wrists are injured,” she whispered, her bright, wide eyes scanning his form. “And there is blood on your trousers.”

Loki frowned - he’d apparently missed a spot. “The blood is not mine. It is that of your overzealous watchdog, who is incredibly fortunate to be alive.”

“Drusus? What happened?”

“It has been dealt with.” He stood, towering over her. “Come. We are returning to your chamber.”

“We are?” He saw her thin fingers tighten in the fabric of her stola, apprehension clouding her features. “But, Loki -“

“Are you panting beneath me right now, mortal?” he asked icily, his expression stern. 

Her face flushed. “No.”

“Then you should not  _ presume _ to use my name, should you?”

Aelia’s face fell. “No, I suppose not.  _ Sire.” _

Loki’s eyes narrowed; he was almost  _ certain _ he detected some hint of rebellion in her voice. “Then stand up and do as you are told.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, she did as he said, leaning into his arm for the support that all of the mortals believed she still needed. She had such a knack for artifice, for playing her part. No one but Loki had ever seen her laid completely bare, body and soul. 

He practically shoved her into the room when they reached it, barring the door behind him. 

“My prince,” Aelia said, holding out her hands placatingly, “there is something that I wish to discuss with you.”

“Now?” Irritation swelled in his chest; he did not wish to  _ discuss _ anything with the mortal. If anything, he wanted to remind himself what she was  _ there _ for, to reinforce her original  _ purpose. _

Loki had never intended to freely  _ discuss  _ things with a mortal. How far had he fallen?

“You spoke of… of Asgard,” she said. “Last night, you spoke of taking me there.” He froze - how did she seem to know  _ exactly  _ which topic would cause him the most distress? “But, as you have said, I am mortal, and I do not belong on As- “

He cut her off with a bruising kiss, clutching her shoulders. How  _ dare  _ she question him?

How  _ dare _ she ask him questions that he did not truly know how to answer?

When he yanked her over to the bed and threw her over his knee, she squeaked in protest, and Loki allowed that to fuel his temper; she  _ was, _ after all, nothing more than a defiant little plaything. This  _ softness _ she inspired in him… he needed to root it out, to contain it, lest it destroy him. 

But when her gasps of outrage at the stinging smacks of his hand on her backside turned into breathy sighs, Loki should’ve realized he was lost, far beyond any hope of salvation. 

And he  _ should’ve _ realized it when he pushed her face-first into the bed so that he would not have to look her in the eyes as he took her, because he was so terribly  _ afraid _ of the way that  _ making love to the mortal _ made him  _ feel. _

And he  _ did  _ realize it when she whispered his name like a prayer, and when he could no longer keep himself from murmuring hers against the shell of her ear, and suddenly he decided that it did not  _ matter  _ that she was mortal, because if  _ anyone _ could outwit Death, it was Loki Odinson, God of  _ Lies.  _

He whispered soothing nonsense in her ear as they finished, jumbled praise and promises, grazing soft kisses along her cheek. “Forgive me,” he said, falling onto his back beside her and closing his eyes - he was not entirely prepared to face her. “It is not your fault that you are mortal.”

He felt a weight settle on his chest, and he opened his eyes to find Aelia leaning over him, a strange, wry look in her eyes. “No,” she replied, “I suppose we must blame the gods for that.”

Loki sighed, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her closer to his heart. “Yes, I suppose we must.”

And as he held her and tried to quiet his embattled, chaotic mind, one thought pushed all others aside:  _ how might he save her from Fate? _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyyss, go show Lokester some love for this beauty ([Villain Cafe on Tumblr](https://villain-cafe.tumblr.com/post/174575771693/inspired-by-exquisite-fanfiction-by)). I just... the fact that awesome things exist based on things that I made completely blows my mind <3
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> Poor Gladiator!Loki is in quite a mess now, taking two steps forward and then one step back... (and then *maybe* another step forward)?? At least he finally got to smack Drusus around a bit. ;)
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> And no matter how slow the updates come, I promise I'm still chugging along on this one! Thank you all so, so much for the love and the comments! <3


	30. XXX

The next few days passed by with an indistinguishable sort of haste; Aelia was kept increasingly busy overseeing the affairs of the villa, and Loki skulked off whenever he had the opportunity to scheme and experiment with his magic. Her uncle and her betrothed, thankfully, spent much of their time at the military encampment, which did give her some room to breathe, though every day seemed to drag her closer and closer to the inevitable: her marriage to Basileus Maximus.

Loki did not mention it. 

In fact, almost every night, when they were finally alone in her chamber, Loki seemed to avoid mentioning the outside world  _ entirely.  _ Instead, he would lay her down gently, kissing her and caressing her and leaving them both breathlessly tangled in her bedsheets.

It almost seemed as if he was afraid that he might  _ break _ her.

As Aelia curled against his side on one such evening, absently toying with a strand of his hair, she contemplated the fact that she actually  _ missed _ the rougher, more domineering side of him - and this peacefulness couldn’t possibly last. Not with the God of Lies. 

“Something troubles you.”

She pressed her nose against his neck, twirling the raven-dark lock of hair around her finger. “I am to be wed in a fortnight.” Loki sighed, presumably irritated, though he did begin to stroke her bare hip in what was surely meant to be a comforting gesture. “That means that you must escape within the next two weeks. It is the only way.”

“Yes.”

“Caius tells me that Drusus has been skulking about, even more so than usual. I have noticed him watching me. He is waiting for my uncle to return so that he can cause trouble, I am certain of it.”

“Should I kill him now, then? He does not have long left to live, either way.”

Aelia leaned back so that she could view his face, slightly aghast. “Of course not. In truth, I had hoped that you had reconsidered your plans for violence. Please, my prince, there  _ must _ be a way for you to escape without causing bloodshed; I am certain of it.”

“Perhaps there is, little one - but I have no interest in avoiding bloodshed. In fact, I  _ crave _ it.”

“I cannot allow it.”

Loki turned towards her, brows lifted in amusement. “Oh, is that so? And how do you plan to  _ stop _ me, little one?”

“I can bribe the guards, and we can escape before -”

“We cannot escape on foot, not without my seiðr. Not now, not with you being the betrothed of the most power-hungry man in your empire.  _ I _ may be immortal, but  _ you _ are not. I will not risk it.” 

She fell silent, and he watched her for a few moments, almost as if he were reading into her heart. “You fear that I will not find a way to free myself in time to stop the marriage,” he said. “Is that it?”

“I fear many things.”

He scowled. “You should have more faith in your god, mortal. This I swear by the Norns: on the very  _ day _ of your wedding to Basileus Maximus, I will mete out my revenge and free you from this world.”

Shuddering, she pressed her face back into the crook of his neck; something in his eyes was distinctly  _ not-human _ in that moment, something that perhaps she, as a mortal, was inherently meant to view with awe and dread. 

“What of my maids?” she dared to ask. “Caius? Will your  _ vengeance _ extend to them, as well?”

There was a pause, and he shifted slightly beneath her, as if the subject caused him discomfort. “I will spare them. If possible.”

Aelia felt herself relax slightly in relief; while it might not be the reply she’d truly wished for, it was more than she’d had any reason to expect. “I am thankful for it, my prince.”

“Whatever mage has cursed me certainly knew what they were doing,” Loki suddenly remarked, and it took her a bit by surprise - he had seemed reluctant to discuss anything regarding his progress, and she’d assumed that he thought it too complicated for her to understand.

_ That, _ or he remembered the way she’d so thoughtlessly thrown down what was left of her fading life in an attempt to free him on the road that day, and he feared that she would show similar recklessness in the future. 

“Do you suppose it was some enchantment crafted especially for you?”

“Yes, I begin to believe it.” With an expression of slight amusement, Loki began to trace his finger along the faint scar on her belly. “And what do you know of such things, little mortal?”

She blushed. “I know nothing, truly. The only magic that I have ever sought out was the charm to keep you away.”

Loki smirked. “Poor thing; it failed you quite spectacularly, for now I have you  _ entirely _ within my grasp.”  

“You do.”

“It is clever of you to suppose that this enchantment was made with only Loki Odinson in mind, Lady Lia, I must give you that. Some spells can work on any sort of being, but the most potent are always highly focused. I had thought that perhaps it was simply intended to bind an immortal - a god, an elf, a giant… any of the beings that Midgardians fear. But this… this is something more.”

She gingerly slid her fingers above the cuffs on his wrists, where his skin was beginning to look more battered and raw by the day. “You are harming yourself in these attempts, are you not?”

“It is worth the cost, if I can finally be rid of the accursed things.” Then, noticing her fretful expression, he took to teasing. “Perhaps if I cannot cut the cuffs away, I should simple cut off my hand. What say you?”

“Are you  _ mad?” _

“I am certain that I would heal. You do not approve of this plan?”

“Of course not. You are dreadful, to suggest such a thing.”

He sighed. “Then I suppose I will take my leave, my lady, and turn my attention back towards my efforts.” Loki stood and dressed himself, and Aelia retrieved her sleeping-tunic and pulled it over her head - the last thing she needed was for one of the servants to come by and find her sleeping stark naked.

_ Though, truly, _ she thought, _ they likely already tell many stories about me that are far more interesting. _

“You should sleep, girl,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Your uncle and betrothed return in the morning, do they not? And that will mean more guests and festivities.”

Something about the way he mentioned  _ guests _ caught her attention. “What are you planning to do when they arrive, sire?”

Loki laughed, and it sounded worryingly cold. “I have debts to repay. Now, do as I say, sweetheart. Sleep.”

Aelia began to protest, but a fuzzy sense of calm urged her to simply relax and close her eyes. She  _ was _ tired, after all, and Loki was right - tomorrow would be yet another taxing farce, what with entertaining her betrothed and her uncle’s guests. 

_ He bespelled me,  _ she realized as Loki pressed his lips to her forehead and left the room. 

_ What is he planning? _

 

* * *

 

Loki had always enjoyed spending time crafting spells and potions in the past, but with his powers half-useless and a  _ dreadful _ lack of ingredients for his concoctions, he was beginning to worry that he would never be able to enjoy it again. 

Aelia did not need to know the details of his plans for revenge; he did not intend that they would have any adverse effect on her standing with Basileus Maximus, and considering her vexing propensity to fret over every single worthless mortal life, it was best if she was kept in the dark.

And really, he reasoned, it was for  _ her _ sake that he acted as he did, for Marcus Juvenus and Drucilla Zonina were currently at the top of the list of those who would feel his vengeance.  _ Yes,  _ he was only doing what was best for his little mortal. She would understand, eventually. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Loki glared at the bowl of liquid swirling before him in the moonlight. He’d had to rely on hemlock - an utterly  _ mundane _ Midgardian herb - and he was slightly bitter about it. How fortunate it was for him (and utterly foolish of the mortals) that it was allowed to grow so near to the villa’s walls.

_ “Máni,” _ he whispered, dipping his fingers into the bowl to swirl it, “Fiery One, The Hastener, may your moonlight bear nightmares.”

The potion rippled and turned silver, and Loki smiled in satisfaction, though some part of him felt like a boy again, sneaking off in the night to work on elementary experiments that he’d been careful to hide from his parents and tutors. It had been centuries since he’d had to use such crude magic.

It was only  _ fitting _ that it would be used on a mortal.

Careful not to spill a single drop, Loki poured his poison into a small flask that he’d stolen from the kitchen, then stored it away behind a loose stone near the lintel of his cell door.

With one problem soon to be resolved, he turned his attention back to the bindings; as much as it pained him to admit it to himself (and he would  _ never _ admit it to Aelia), he was beginning to grow concerned that he would not be able to deal with them on his own. With his own power so limited, and unable to discern anything about the way in which they were crafted, he was at a loss. 

His magic was waning again, as well, along with his strength; he’d overtaxed himself in his efforts, and he had practically stopped sleeping, save for the few hours he allowed himself at his little mortal’s side.

He needed an overwhelming, suffocating amount of power, such as his father’s Odinforce. That would  _ surely _ snuff out the power of the cuffs… but no help had come, and it had been months now since he’d become stranded on Midgard.

Loki crept though the shadows of the darkened halls; even at night, now, the villa was awake with the bustling of servants and slaves, always preparing for their master’s next show. He slipped out into the chilly, clear night and stared up at the stars. 

“Heimdall,” he said after a moment. “Even you would not teach me so harsh a lesson, would you? You truly cannot see me?”

There was no response - not that Loki had expected one.

“Do they think me dead?” he asked the heavens. “Does my brother weep for me? My mother? Does the mighty Odin Allfather himself mourn for his lost son?”

Perhaps he was becoming too much like the mortals. A few months should not be any significant length of time to a god; it could be that they imagined he’d gone off on some solitary quest, hiding himself from them to work on some new mischief or spellcraft.

But no, he knew that he was just being foolishly hopeful. 

_ Do they search for me? Do they stand at the edge of the Sea of Space, wondering where I am in the Beyond? _

His throat constricted. Though he despised it, he was almost feeling… sentimental. 

_ Weak. _

“Father? Father, can you not hear me?” And then, mixed with the hurt came anger, a much more familiar - and in Loki’s mind, a much more  _ acceptable _ \- emotion. “I am your  _ son. You, _ the  _ almighty _ Allfather, who sits at the head of the World Tree… can you not even watch over your  _ own son?” _

_ Calm,  _ he told himself.  _ This solves nothing.  _

He spun on his heel when he heard footsteps approaching, ready to spring, but it was only the boy Caius, and Loki sighed. The fight would have been enjoyable; he had been feeling the itch ever since Drusus had attempted to stop him in the hall.

“Asking the gods for guidance?” Caius asked, and Loki noticed that the mortal’s eyes had an almost amber tint in the moonlight, standing out from his dark skin. “I did not take you as the type of man to pray, Asgardian.”

Loki studied him as they stood there in the shadows of the villa’s walls. “You know what I am. Don’t you, boy?”

“I know that Loki Liesmith is not of this world.”

Sighing, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering yet again when his life had gone so terribly off-balance. “How?” he bit out. 

“I heard the whisperings of the Northmen when you were captured. The Romans may not believe, but I can  _ feel _ that you do not belong here. Another talent from my ancestors, I believe. Your presence is -” he grinned “-  _ highly _ unsettling, Asgardian. Your powers seep free, as if you are about to burst.”

_ How terribly accurate, _ Loki thought. “Did you seek me out?”

“Yes. Otho and Basileus Maximus will be returning earlier than expected. I thought that you might wish to tell me your plans for Lady Aelia.”

“My  _ plans?”  _ Oh, the  _ audacity _ of mortals. 

“Yes.” Caius’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I  _ know _ you will not let him have her, and every day makes the danger greater. If we are to help you, then we must know what to do, yes?”

“We? Who is it, Caius, that is so eager to help a barbarian god steal away with the future Empress of Rome?”

He’d said it scathingly, but the mortal was unfazed. “Lavinia and Prisca,” he replied. “They love Lady Aelia dearly, and they will do anything to see her safe.”

“The maids do not think me  _ safe, _ mortal.”

“Perhaps not. But you are better than Basileus Maximus.”

Loki scoffed. “Such high praise. Very well, I will find some use for you in the coming days. For now, I wish for you to keep an eye on the mistress’s esteemed betrothed; I do not trust him.”

“As you wish, Liesmith.”

Caius turned to leave, and Loki marveled at the sheer cheek of the boy, to call him ‘Liesmith’ even as he pledged to follow his commands. There  _ were _ at least a  _ few _ interesting mortals on Midgard, he decided. 

 

* * *

 

The moon still shone brightly as Loki crept through the shadowy hallways once again, making his way towards the library, his task for the night completed. He was certain that if the library held anything of use, he would’ve surely found it by now, but he was becoming desperate. 

Loki Odinson did not like feeling desperate.

“Barbarian!” 

The slave that came scurrying up to him then was fretful-looking, and he knew at once that he would not like whatever was about to be said. “Yes?”

“You are being summoned to Master Otho’s study. At once,” he added, looking as if he’d just signed his own deathwish. “Prince Basileus Maximus waits there, as well.”

Scowling, Loki gestured for the slave to lead him onwards; he had to be careful with the mortal prince, as Aelia was still within his grasp.  _ Bide your time.  _ He felt as if he’d been repeating that mantra for an eternity.  _ Bide your time. _

When he stepped into the study, Loki knew at once why he’d been summoned, for Otho and Basileus were not alone.  _ No, _ to one side sat none other than the pathetic guard Drusus, his head still bandaged, a triumphant smirk on his face. 

Loki wanted nothing more than to kill him, and he cursed Caius to Hel for stopping him when he’d had the chance.

“Slave,” Otho acknowledged, leaning over his desk. “How it  _ grieves _ me to return to my home after many days of hard work, only to be greeted with the story that my niece’s prized  _ pet _ barbarian has so viciously attacked one of my men.”

Caius  _ clearly _ had not taken into account Otho’s overwhelming desire to cause Loki suffering when he’d said that he would  _ deal _ with things. He said nothing. There was no point.  _ Bide your time.  _

“You grow arrogant, barbarian, because Aelia Sabina coddles you so. This cannot be tolerated. You will be lashed for your continued insolence, and were it not for your worth in the arena, you would be dead.”

Otho was lying - the  _ real _ reason he did not dare try to kill him directly was because of Basileus Maximus. The crown prince held his eyes, now, a flat, cold smile on his face. 

Loki tamped down his rage as soldiers stepped into the study behind him. 

“Fifty lashes,” Otho said. “Take him.”

And Loki, knowing that he was not strong enough to cut through the army that would surely fall upon the villa if he slaughtered the emperor’s son where he stood, simply clenched his teeth and allowed it. 

 

* * *

 

When Aelia awoke shortly before dawn, she found that her god was missing from her bed. While this was not surprising in and of itself, as Loki had taken to roaming at all hours of the night, she had certainly expected him to want to be with her before her uncle returned. 

She worked on his tunic for a little while; it was nearly finished. Would he sneer at such a paltry offering? Or would he treasure it? It would likely last longer than she would live - perhaps he could keep it as a momento.

It was a very morbid thought. 

Her maids appeared to dress her for the day before long, strangely quiet. “What is the matter?” Aelia asked. They looked to each other, hesitant. “Tell me, Lavinia.”

Lavinia bit her lip. “Your uncle returned during the night. He ordered your barbarian lashed, my lady, for his injury of the guard Drusus.”

“What?” Aelia cried, springing to her feet. “And no one came to me?”

“What could you do, my lady?” Lavinia threw up her hands, trying to calm her. “Otho will only punish you if you interfere; you know this.”

“I do not  _ care.” _ And then, despite the protesting of her maids, Aelia rushed from her chamber in her sleeping-tunic, her bare feet beating against the cold stones of the hall. She earned several odd looks on her way, but thankfully, most of the villa was still abed, and no one dared to stop her.

The dust of the courtyard stirred as she ran outside, and Aelia clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her cry: Loki, her fearsome, invincible immortal, was on his knees, tied to the whipping post, his forehead resting against the wood. He was not moving.

“Loki!” She fell to her knees beside him, reaching out to touch him… but then she hesitated, cringing, for his back was torn to bloody shreds. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Loki?”

His eyes cracked open, and he gave her a sardonic smile. “Do I not look appealing this way, little mistress?”

“Oh, by the gods, Loki! Why did you allow this? How did they manage to injure you?”

He moved to shrug, but then she saw him wince, and he rested his head back against the wood. “You know that I can suppress my healing. It is even easier now, for much of my magic is spent. I thought that it would be better than to have the soldiers stand here attempting to pierce invulnerable flesh for the rest of the day.”

Aelia raised a hand to his cheek. “I will go to Basileus Maximus,” she began. “He will not allow -”

“Your betrothed was complicit, I’m afraid, my darling. I believe he thought it an excellent way to teach me a lesson; he is wise to think me untrustworthy.”

Her fists clenched. “Then  _ I _ will not allow it,” she declared. “I will be back.”

Then she sped to the storage sheds, for she was certain that there was something there that she might be able to make use of to cut Loki free. She found a small, slightly tarnished thrusting-dagger scattered among other supplies for the infantrymen, and she seized it and rushed back to his side.

“I must say,” Loki remarked, “you are quite the sight, my lady, with your tunic and knife. Very fetching, indeed.”

_ How can he be so playful when he looks like this?  _ Aelia wondered. Perhaps he was trying to distract himself from the sting of the lash-marks, for she was certain that the dust in the wind must’ve been irritating them.

“Stay still.” She began sawing at the ropes around the whipping-post, cursing the dullness of the blade.

“You have drawn an audience, my lady.”

Aelia glanced around, spying a few slaves and servants peeking at her from the edge of the courtyard, but thankfully, no soldiers were in sight. She pressed harder on the knife. Once they were sufficiently thinned, Loki simply snapped the remainder and staggered to his feet. 

“That was unpleasant, I will admit,” he said, placing his hand on the post to steady himself. “I believe the soldiers might’ve gotten a bit overzealous.”

“How are you so easy about this?” Aelia cried, placing a guiding hand on his elbow. “Come into the villa, quickly.”

“Because I will  _ kill _ them all, mortal. I never forget a face. It is ultimately of no consequence. Besides, you may cease your fretting; I will be able to heal this rather easily, but I would like to bathe first.”

“Of course.” Her maids had finally found her, hurrying towards the courtyard like a group of frightened doves, and Aelia waved them towards her. “Take him to the bath,” she ordered. “Fetch him anything he requests, and let no one disturb him. You may say that this was done at  _ my _ command.”

Lavinia frowned, but bowed, and Prisca rushed off to find him clothes. Had she not been so terribly enraged, Aelia might’ve found the sight of Loki towering over her handmaidens as they led him away to tend to him almost  _ amusing. _

But no,  _ fury _ reigned, and she took herself back to her chamber with all possible haste. She would dress herself in something acceptable and then go  _ demand _ to speak with her betrothed. He liked to play little games, did he not? Enjoyed seeing her  _ barbarian _ side?

_ Well,  _ Aelia thought as she tied her sash around her stola,  _ he will see it this day. _

But she had only made it halfway to her uncle’s study when a hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her into one of the dark, mostly-empty storage chambers near the kitchens. 

It was not Loki; she knew that for certain, and so she struggled and stamped her feet, managing to strike her assailant’s ankle. “Barbarian  _ slut,” _ the man behind her cursed, and Aelia’s eyes widened.

_ Drusus.  _ Oh, how she  _ wished _ that she had kept the knife! She’d thought it better suited for Loki, but she realized now that she was far more defenseless than he could ever be.

“Such a pretty thing,” Drusus said. “Pity that you spread your legs for  _ slaves.”  _ He shoved her forward over a storage crate, keeping his hand locked firmly around her mouth and jaw, muffling her shrieks of outrage. “You will not speak of this,” he said with an arrogant sneer, groping at her with his free hand. “Do you know why? Open your mouth, and I’ll have that slave of yours _ killed, _ Sabina.”

_ Stupid, stupid man, _ Aelia raged. Had seeing Loki beaten and bloody truly made him so bold? It was almost laughable, in a hysterical, horrible sort of way.  _ You are a dead man, _ she thought. 

But he was still a soldier, and though he was frail compared to Loki, he far outweighed her. Her attempts to dislodge him only seemed to make him more furious, and Aelia frantically searched about to see if there was anything that she might be able to reach to use as a weapon, but the room was nearly pitch-black and mostly empty. 

_ Loki! _ It had worked before, hadn’t it? He’d been inside her mind on more than one occasion - maybe he was always there.  _ Always there. _

_ Loki, please. _

And then the door burst open and slammed shut again just as quickly, and the weight pressing against her back disappeared with a muffled grunt and a gurgle of surprise. She spun around; the only light in the room came from the sickly-green light floating above Loki’s palm, and beneath it…

“Do not look, mortal,” Loki said, and the light extinguished as he stood and pulled her close. It was too late for that - she’d already seen the knife buried in the soldier’s chest.  _ Dead man. _ The phrase ran over and over in her mind.  _ Dead man, dead man.  _

“Aelia!” Loki shook her slightly, then slid his hands up her face. “Aelia, are you alright? Are you injured?”

She shuddered. “No, I… I am not injured.”

“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I know that you are shaken, but you cannot be found here.”

Loki pulled her from the room, carefully closing the door behind them, then practically dragged her to her chamber. “The timing is critical,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Wait here; I will be back shortly. Your maids will be on their way.”

He kissed her and sped off, and Aelia sat heavily on her bed, feeling shockingly numb. 

And, perhaps the worst part of all was that  _ she’d _ wished Drusus dead. If she’d had the knife, she had no doubt that she would have tried to do it herself. And now that it had happened, she felt… nothing.

She stared at her hands, imagining the blood on them, feeling tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. 

_ What am I? _

 

* * *

 

Aelia had managed to take control of herself before her maids appeared in her chamber, though her grasp on normalcy was tenuous, at best. Loki had apparently terrified them all when he’d sprung from the bath and taken off running, but she was tight-lipped, and they seemed to know better than to pursue the matter. 

Apparently, most of the household (those who were already awake, at least) were concentrated in the dining hall, for Compitalia was almost upon them, a celebration of the household deities, and Otho was clearly looking for any excuse to throw a lavish party. 

_ Thank the gods,  _ Aelia thought,  _ for busy servants and empty hallways.  _

When Loki  _ did _ finally return, he was dressed and looked completely calm and presentable. “Go about your business as expected,” he whispered in her ear. “We need to be seen in public now, to allay suspicion once the bodies are found.”

_ Ah. _ That was true enough, and the last thing she wanted was to put Loki in harm’s way by making him a suspect with no alibi. Nodding her understanding, Aelia took his arm for support and stepped into the hall, her heart pounding and her head aching.

And then the word he’d spoken hit her soundly, and her steps faltered. 

_ Bodies? _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIRTY CHAPTERS WHAT?? And over 100k words??
> 
> I will mostly humbly beg for your comments, lovely readers! <3
> 
> Also, if you ever wanna ask me anything, just keep up with me on [Tumblr](https://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/)!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I'm gonna go back and proofread over this again later tonight, but I REALLY just wanted to get it up ASAP <3


	31. XXXI

_ Yes, _ the timing was critical. Had he known that he would be summoned to Otho’s study and then staked out in the courtyard to be lashed, Loki might’ve waited until another opportunity presented itself to poison Marcus Juvenus. 

Truly, though, he excelled at twisting and weaving his way through chaos, and he believed that he’d managed to arrange everything rather wonderfully. It had required the expenditure of even more of his power, and his mortal appeared terrified, but Loki was entirely certain that things would fall into place as he’d intended.

The Norns owed him that much, surely.

He winced as he pretended to help Aelia into the dining hall - it was fortunate that she no longer truly needed his assistance, for he’d been left without the time or seiðr to fully heal himself, and the lash-marks stung. Perhaps it was for the best; Otho would wish to know that he suffered, no doubt, and at least now it would be genuine.

On the other hand, he did not wish to worry his mortal, for she already looked as if she were about to swoon. It  _ may _ have been unwise to mention the bodies, he decided; she  _ was _ worryingly faint-hearted, even after everything she’d endured. He would have to find some way to shield her from it as much as possible, at least while they were on Midgard. Once they were in Asgard, of course, she would be hidden away quite safely, and she’d never again have to worry about such things. 

_ Once they were in Asgard. _

Aelia’s thin little fingers dug into his arm as they entered the dining hall, which was already bustling with servants and slaves, some cleaning the floors, while others hung odd-looking garlands around the room. She settled onto one of the reclining couches in the corner of the room, and a harried-looking servant immediately rushed over to them.

“Mistress,” he said, “we have nowhere to serve the guests the morning meal; we did not expect for more to arrive during the night, and the small dining room will not be enough to accommodate them all.”

“More guests arrived in the night?” Aelia shot a worried glance his way, and Loki kept his expression carefully blank. 

“Yes, my lady. They arrived not long before Master Otho and Prince Basileus Maximus returned. Lucius Tarpeius and his wife and children, along with Drucilla Zonina, Octavia Junia, and the senator Marcus Juvenus.”

She frowned. “Put the couches back in their places, then - the decorations for Compitalia can wait until after we have eaten. A quick, simple breakfast will do quite well, I think.”

“Of course, mistress.”

The household scurried to do her bidding, and Loki stood tense by her side, waiting. 

_ Waiting,  _ and perhaps even praying to the Norns that they might finally weave a bit of luck into his path. Several other slaves gave him curious looks as they passed by, likely curious to know why their mistress had madly scrambled to free him from the whipping-post.

Nearly an hour had passed, by Loki’s guess, when the screaming began.

 

* * *

 

As soon as she heard the shrieks, Aelia sprung to her feet, clutching Loki’s arm for support. “Find out what is happening,” she demanded, and one of the slaves rushed off to do her bidding. The rest of the room fell into an uncomfortable sort of stillness until he returned, ashen-faced.

“Mistress,” he said. “Please come with me.”

Every eye on the room was fixed on them, and she cleared her throat, trying to appear appropriately aloof. “What is this about?”

He leaned close, whispering in her ear, “Marcus Juvenus, my lady. He is… one of the maids just found his body.”

Aelia reeled, clasping a hand over her mouth; while she’d known to expect something dreadful, the thought of a man she’d known her entire life lying dead in her home turned her stomach.  _ Make that two men, _ her mind whispered,  _ for Drusus is dead, as well. _

“Take me there,” she said, and they made their way down the halls, attracting a small following of servants as they went. “Does anyone else know?”

“Someone went to fetch the master.”

That was not what she had hoped to hear.

When they reached the chamber that had been provided for Marcus Juvenus, there was already a huddle of servants crowded outside of the door, some belonging to her household, and some belonging to their guests. News was certain to spread quickly.

She had to get hold of the situation, somehow, before things spiralled out of control.

And so, though she dreaded the sight that awaited her in the chamber, she imperiously ordered the servants to stand aside, sweeping past them with Loki towering by her side.  _ Minerva, _ she prayed,  _ give me wisdom. _

Aelia’s hopes were dashed all too soon; Otho and Basileus Maximus were already in the chamber, along with a handful of soldiers. They were crowded around the bed, blocking her view, and she feared to draw close. Her uncle’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of her, though he did not fly into the rage she was expecting.

If anything, she might’ve even said that Otho looked…  _ smug. _

Her pulse sped. “What has happened?”

“Well, dear niece,” he said, glancing down towards something she could not see, “Senator Juvenus has been murdered under our roof, it seems. Come.” He extended a hand, and Aelia took it with great reluctance, allowing him to pull her forward.

She could not suppress a cry.

The tableau before her had been carefully set, she knew, for it looked entirely believable, and Aelia knew for a fact that it was not. Marcus Juvenus was halfway-sprawled against his bed, his sheet tangled about him, a look of agony frozen on his features. Drusus, it appeared, had fallen only a few feet away, a small ornamental dagger buried in his chest. One of the other guards knelt beside him, searching the body.

_ Loki was the one who did this. He did this. _

“What… I do not understand. How did this happen?”

“It appears that he was poisoned,” the prince replied, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.  _ Loki.  _ She acted as if she did not notice. “Given that it is a dagger gifted to Senator Juvenus by my father buried in this soldier’s heart, I believe we have found both of our culprits.”

Aelia’s near-swoon, at least, was genuine, and Otho’s grip on her hand tightened. “They killed each other, then?” She supposed it was fitting that her voice shook; at least she had a known aversion to gore.

Basileus regarded her now, expression inscrutable. “So it would seem. The question, of course, is why? A poisoning is not a chance thing - the murder of Juvenus was certainly premeditated.”

“And oddly enough, dear niece, I had spoken with Drusus upon my arrival, only  _ hours _ before this must have occurred.” He was hurting her, now, crushing her fingers in his hand. She fought the urge to struggle. “He came to speak of your slave.”

_ There it was. _ Aelia squared her shoulders slightly. “I was informed, Uncle Otho. As you can see, when I awoke at dawn, I had  _ my _ slave released.”  _ Go on, _ she thought,  _ strike me in front of Basileus Maximus. Go on, Uncle. Break character. _

He released her hand. 

“Did Drusus appear to be in any unnatural state when he spoke with you, Uncle?” she asked innocently, watching out of the corner of her eye as Lucius Tarpeius rushed into the room. “He must’ve come directly from speaking with you to dear Senator Juvenus’s chamber. Who could have put the soldier up to such a  _ damnable _ act, to murder our guest?”

Otho’s eyes narrowed at the thinly-veiled accusation. “I cannot imagine.”

“He has coin in his purse,” the soldier at Drusus’s side announced, hefting a small leather bag. 

“What has happened?” Lucius cried. “Otho, what is this?”

“Exactly what it looks like, Lucius,” her uncle snapped. “Marcus is dead.”

Basileus took the purse from his soldier’s hand, spilling some of the coins across his palm. “And this soldier was paid handsomely for it, by all appearances. Though it  _ occurs _ to me, as a man who has seen many other men die, that there appears to have been a struggle - much more of a struggle than our dying friend Marcus could have offered, I would say.”

Lucius gawped down at the bodies before them, appearing just as ill as Aelia felt. “What are you saying, sire? Marcus did not kill the guard?”

“No, but I would be willing to wager that whoever put him up to this  _ did.” _ He shook the purse again, and a small ring fell out on top of the coins. “Well,” he remarked, “what have we  _ here?” _

“A woman’s ring?” Otho sent a suspicious glance her way, but in her panic, Aelia almost felt as if she were watching the entire scene unfold from somewhere far away, removed from the reality of it.

“It belongs to Drucilla Zonina.” Every eye in the room turned to the barbarian standing behind her shoulder, apparently shocked into silence by his audacity - and Aelia was among them. “I have seen it on her finger,” Loki continued smoothly, “when she made use of me.”

_ Gods give me strength, _ Aelia thought, eyes wide,  _ what is he doing? _

Otho was the first to speak. “You claim to have known Zoninus’s daughter so intimately, slave? Niece, did you know of this?”

“No,” Aelia replied, and deciding that the best she could do for the situation was to act appropriately outraged, she turned and slapped Loki across the face. “How  _ dare _ you?”

His head jerked slightly at the contact, and she flushed as his eyes darkened - whether it was due to anger or desire at the promise of eventual retribution, she could not be certain. “Forgive me, mistress,” he said. “I was ordered. You may question her friend, if you wish, or her servants.”

“This is hardly the time for you to fret over your  _ property, _ Sabina,” Lucius said. “Two Roman citizens are  _ dead!” _

Basileus held the ring in his fingers, studying it in the light. “I have seen it,” he said, “this ring. Send for Drucilla and Octavia, and their women.”

The crowd around the door stirred as several of his men rushed out, and Caius slipped into the room in the midst of the chaos. He shook his head slightly at the pleading gaze Aelia sent his way, and she decided that he must be warning her to keep silent.  _ Whatever _ it was that Loki had begun, they had no choice but to allow him to finish it.

“How could you have allowed this to happen in your villa, Otho?” Lucius demanded, pacing about restlessly as they waited. “And on the eve of Compitalia - the Lares are displeased. It bodes ill for the community.”

“Oh,  _ really, _ Lucius, you sound like a superstitious old woman. The gods are for common men.”

Aelia might’ve laughed, had she been a bit more hysterical.  _ No,  _ she thought,  _ the gods  _ are _ angry with you, Uncle. One in particular. _

And the god in question had no expression on his face at all as they waited; it was almost as if he had been carved from stone. Was Loki afraid? Was he uncertain? Or did he, through some sort of otherworldly wisdom, know that everything would end well?

Drucilla stormed into the room not long after she’d been sent for, Octavia and Lucia following just behind her, clasped in each other’s arms. “What is the meaning—” Drucilla began, but then she caught sight of the scene on the floor and screamed.

_ “Lucius,” _ his wife cried, “is that Marcus Juvenus?”

“It  _ is,  _ Lucia,” Basileus Maximus answered instead. “The senator has been murdered.”

Aelia bit back a sudden flare of temper at how  _ distraught _ they all pretended to be, how  _ disturbed,  _ as if they did not choose to watch men die for sport whenever the opportunity presented itself.  _ Hypocrites,  _ she seethed.  _ Liars and hypocrites. _

But then, she realized, was she really any  _ better, _ now that she had thrown in her lot with Loki, God of Lies? Both of the bodies lying cold on the floor were there because of her, were they not? And she  _ knew, _ yet she feigned innocence.

_Do not blame him,_ _Aelia,_ she told herself. _You have lived your whole life as a liar, and you cannot allow yourself to stumble now, not when Loki’s schemes depend upon you._ It was critical that she provide some degree of credibility to Loki’s claim. And truly, it did not even require any falsehood on her part - the wretched woman _had_ summoned him to her chambers, after all.

“Drucilla,” she said, a horribly-tense smile on her face, “you thought to add  _ my _ slave to your  _ wretched _ collection?”

The woman scoffed. “I hardly think that matters right  _ now, _ Sabina.”

“No,” Basileus said, raising a quelling hand to stifle the murmurs of the household gathered around them, a crowd that seemed to only swell as each moment passed. “I would like to hear your answer as well, my lady.”

Drucilla appeared to be slightly aghast, and she looked to her companions for support, though they seemed reluctant to intervene on her behalf. “I have every  _ right _ to do with him as I wish,” she protested. “That barbarian is a  _ slave, _ not a citizen.”

“Dear Octavia,  _ did _ Drucilla Zonina summon this slave to her chamber?” Octavia paled. “Well?”

“Yes, sire.”

“I have just recovered this,” Basileus said then, holding up the small ring. “It is yours, correct?”

Aelia expected the woman to catch on to the mood of the room and vehemently deny it, but she seemed too baffled by the proceedings to catch herself. “That is  _ my _ ring,” Drucilla said. “My father gave it to me! What—” And then she seemed to catch herself, eyes narrowing. “The barbarian must’ve  _ stolen _ it.”

“Really? How odd. It was found in the possession of this guard, Drucilla - the one who apparently killed Marcus Juvenus.” Basileus spoke with that cold, casual voice, one that seemed to chill the very air around him, and the whispers in the room faded away.

Loki’s hand was suddenly on Aelia’s elbow, and she silently thanked the gods that her secretly-healed wound gave him an acceptable reason to touch her publicly. They both likely needed the support. 

“I do not understand,” Drucilla said, and though her tone was haughty, there was a slight tremor in it now. Had things been different, Aelia might’ve almost felt  _ pity _ for her - she  _ should,  _ shouldn’t she? But she found that she could not muster it.

Otho had a thoughtful frown on his face, and Aelia had no doubt that he was likely trying to decide how to best use the situation to his advantage. Considering the falling-out that he’d had with Marcus Juvenus, he was likely secretly thankful that the man was dead. “Zoninus is likely on his way here already for the festivities,” he said. “Shall we await him, my prince?”

“Await him for  _ what?” _ Drucilla cried. “Otho?”

The prince slid the small ring onto his little finger and handed the purse to one of his men. “Yes, I think that would be best. The father of the family should be present for such things. Call for a physician to examine the bodies.” He smiled lightly. “Drucilla, please return to your chamber.”

“Sire, I—”

“At once.”

Pausing for a moment, Drucilla appeared to flounder, but then she whirled and practically fled the room. At a slight nod from Basileus, one of his soldiers followed her.

Aelia’s heart was in her throat.

“Disperse,” her uncle ordered the gathered crowd. “Back to your work.” The slaves and servants began to scatter, and Loki tugged her ever-so-slightly closer to him. 

“No need to stay here any longer,” Basileus remarked. “The dead pollute the living, they say. I think that this would be best discussed in your study, Otho. Dear Aelia, I am sorry that you have had to witness such things; please,  _ do _ go about your business.”

Otho’s jaw tightened; he wanted to chastise her for setting Loki free, Aelia knew, but he could hardly counter a direct dismissal from Basileus Maximus. She was quick to take the opportunity to flee.

However, hiding away entirely seemed that it might appear questionable, and so she went to the kitchen garden instead of her chamber, sinking down onto one of the benches as all of her strength seemed to suddenly seep away. To the servants following her, Aelia simply declared that she needed a moment to recover from the dreadful sight of seeing such an old family friend dead, and Loki’s glowering further convinced them all to leave her be.

She could not bring herself to look at him as she sat there in the early-morning shade; the events of the morning seemed suffocating,  _ impossible. _ Drusus was dead. Marcus Juvenus was dead. Drucilla, it seemed, was poised for a fall.

And the god crouched at her feet had done it all. 

Hidden by the loose folds of her stola, she felt Loki take her hand. “You poisoned the senator,” she whispered, “and made Drucilla suspect?”

His thumb stroked gently across her knuckles. “Yes. A fitting punishment, I think. The guard was an unexpected addition to the scene, but he deserved his place.”

“But—”

“They wronged you, Aelia. It is justice.”

“Man is not meant to  _ judge,” _ she began, but she finally met his eyes then, and Loki looked slightly fearsome. Her words froze on her lips.

“I  _ am _ no  _ man, _ mortal,” he said quietly. “Have you forgotten?”

Her sense of dread deepened, and Aelia remember then how just intensely she had  _ feared _ him, in those early days. She had imagined that she had seen some humanity grow within Loki during their time together, but… immortals were  _ unchanging, _ weren’t they? It was  _ she _ who had changed.

“No, I have not.”

 

* * *

 

Marcus Juvenus had died a slow, appropriately-painful death, as far as the God of Lies was concerned. He’d originally intended to simply make it look as though the wretched mortal Drucilla had lost the ring Loki’d stolen from her in a struggle with the dying senator, but he found that the addition of the drunken guard Drusus made the whole narrative that much more  _ satisfying.  _ Three flies killed with one slap.

Loki was pleased.

If they searched Drucilla’s belongings - and he was certain that they would - they would find a message from the senator accepting his part in the plan to murder Aelia. It would become clear, after some speculation, that she had tempted Juvenus with the prospect of betrothal to rid herself of her rival, and when he had shown himself to be a failure, had decided to do away with him as revenge. That she would then panic and turn the knife on her accomplice should surprise no one - she seemed to be known as something of a snake.

And if he did have to use a touch of seiðr here or there to nudge them in the right direction, well… he was more than prepared to do so.

The problem, then, was with his little mortal.

He would’ve greatly preferred if he could have kept Aelia from seeing the bodies; it always seemed to remind her how easily he killed, and how little he regretted it. While some degree of respectful fear was appropriate, he also did not want her to seem so...  _ averse. _

She did not even wish to look him in the eye, as he held her hand there in the garden. Loki knew that she was shaken, and so he tried to reel in his temper - she had little reason to object to his actions, by his way of thinking. Little reason, and certainly no  _ right, _ for as she seemed to keep forgetting, he was a  _ god. _

Loki had comforted her and  _ saved _ her; she should be on her knees, showering him with praise. And yet, here  _ he _ was, kneeling at her feet, simply holding her hand.  _ It is not her fault that she is mortal, _ he reminded himself.  _ She is only mortal. _

“What will you say, Lia, if Basileus Maximus calls on you for questioning?”

She frowned. “You were with me well into the night,” she said. “I see no need to lie. I have the prince’s  _ blessing _ for our affair, after all. Isn’t that so?”

His eyes narrowed at the bite in her tone. “Yes.”

“Then, I will say that we were together until Otho called you for punishment. There were onlookers when I cut you loose from the whipping-post this morning - there was no possible way for you to kill both Drusus and Juvenus, for you were never alone.”

“You will so readily lie for me?”

“Of course, Loki. Is there any other way?”

The listlessness in her voice pained him, and Loki leaned close to her ear. “When the night comes, Lady,” he said, “I  _ will _ make you forget the dread of the morning.”

A faint blush took to her cheeks, and for just a moment, she leaned her head against his. 

He took it as a sign that she understood that he’d only done what was best.

 

* * *

 

They were still sitting silently in the garden when Loki’s keen ears picked up the sounds of distant shouting; it seemed that Zoninus had finally arrived, and he was clearly incensed that his daughter had been accused of murder while a guest in his rival’s villa. It came as no surprise when a very fraught-looking slave appeared to summon him.

“Just the barbarian, mistress,” the little slave-girl said. “The master requests that you continue the preparations for Compitalia, as more guests will be arriving shortly.”

_ Divide and conquer, no doubt. _

“Of course,” Aelia said. He saw the apprehension in her eyes and gave her fingers a light squeeze, not particularly caring whether or not the slave took notice. “You are to find me once Uncle is done with you, Loki.”

“As you say, mistress.”

 

* * *

 

She was a nervous wreck as she waited for Loki to return to her side, though she thought she did a rather good job of seeing to the guests and the decorations despite the leaden weight in her chest. 

Compitalia was a festival of turning-points and crossroads; it was an important opportunity for Otho to invoke the Lares for good fortune for the sake of both household and city, and Aelia knew that it now fell upon her to at least give the  _ appearance  _ of a festive, auspicious day. 

Wreaths were hung on the columns to breathe freshness into the air, and tiny effigies were strung up near the doorways to appease the spirits of the dead. She paid  _ particular  _ attention to those; Aelia’s experience with gods was limited, but based on what she  _ did  _ know, they were petty, fickle beings. With any luck, the household gods would be pleased enough to chase any lingering spirits along to the afterlife. 

She was directing the wrapping of one of the columns in the courtyard when an unfamiliar carriage rattled up at the gate.  _ Oh gods,  _ she prayed.  _ I hope that it is not the prince’s sisters, arrived early.  _ It was a worry that she’d almost forgotten, lost among so many other fears. Some part of her knew that once they arrived, the wedding would seem much more inescapable, more  _ final. _

But it was not as grand of a carriage as she might’ve expected for the emperor’s daughters, and indeed, when the door was opened, she quickly realized that her worry had been unnecessary. The man who emerged had striking red hair, peppered with just the slightest hints of grey. A slight young woman followed him, and Aelia assumed from the girl’s coloring that she must be either his sister or a daughter. 

He could not be much older than her uncle, she decided, though she could not recall ever seeing him before. From his dress, she took him for a military man, so perhaps he was a guest of the prince, instead. She dusted her hands off on her skirts as he approached, preparing to force a welcoming smile, as the lady of the house was  _ expected  _ to do. 

“Greetings,” she began as they stepped out of the sunlight and into the shade of the doorway, “I—“

“I know who you are,” the man interrupted, a decisive scowl darkening his features. “I could never mistake you. You are the  _ witch’s _ brat.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to write a bunch of people arguing can get fantastically frustrating sometimes, haha. 
> 
> Guys! There's only around 10 days left within the story before it reaches the end and that's got me feeling all sorts of very intense things. Of course, I have no idea how many chapters that will end up translating to, but STILL
> 
> Thank you all so much for keeping up with this story! <3 It'll be a year old in November, and it's such a source of joy!


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